Thus Always
by GeminiGemelo
Summary: Mufasa reigns. The kingdom rots in depravity. Yet when Scar, his long-stigmatized brother, decides to change that, he gets more than he bargained for: set on an irreversible course of destiny, his struggle will turn the Pridelander's lives, morals, and entire world completely upside-down. AU, GOOD!Scar.
1. Thus Always

_**A/N:**_

_The premise of this fic goes to **pokeking95**, who sent me the basic plot idea. For simplicity, I turned it into a simple 'What if?': what if Mufasa was the tyrant, and Scar was the popular king? Where would this put Scar's act of fratricide - would it be considered an appalling crime for which he should be deposed as it was in the movie, or would it merely be a necessary action for the good of the pride? And what of Simba - where would that leave him?_

_I was immediately intrigued, and finally sat down and wrote this. I think it goes without saying that Mufasa is going to be very OOC. Scar also has a similar, but not exactly congruous personality. Simba is a lot like the Simba in the movie (for now), but there will obviously be some changes._

_Well, since that's been said, we can continue on, right?_

_Oh wait, but I forgot! We need the disclaimer! ...No, not the type that (needlessly) says I don't own anything, silly! I mean the _really _important one. You know, in case someone decides to randomly sue me over some story on the internet, as that happens too often... Ahem..._

___(By entering this fic, you agree to indemnify and hold harmless GeminiGemelo ("Author") for any personal damage caused by this story, including headaches, hair being ripped out, injury sustained by fainting, or brains exploding due to over-exposure to potentially shocking elements, canon twists, character interpretations, and overall AU-ness. You have been warned.)_

* * *

A lion crept through the shadows of his home, keeping his head down as he always did. Maybe, then, no one would notice him. No one would take concern of him, the lion creeping about and blending into the stark dark in the midst of the day. If he was lucky, his brother would not notice him, either… He could keep to himself, as he always did, as he tired of waiting for something which would never come to him.

_I must keep this a secret. No one can know of… of…_

Still in his vagabond state, he crept under a rock and hid inside his cave—a relatively secret abode of which he was the only occupant. The trademark stench of urine hung about the walls, a fetid odor which did nothing to soothe his relatively agitated emotions. But he didn't preoccupy himself with it for now… housekeeping was not ranked highly out of his priorities.

_… what I am planning…_

He traversed the darkness confidently, navigating around the sharp points of the sky-creeping stalagmites which he had accidently stepped on many times before. Finding a comfortable and well-worn area near the back, he flopped down on his side, a layer of dust blowing off his coat and slowly settling on the rock shelf he had settled on. Despite this, however, there was still quite a bit of inlaid dirt in his matted and tangled fur. Under normal circumstances, this would not do—oh no. In any normal time, he would be perfectly groomed, and immaculate, and well-fed, and… and…

The list of 'ands' could go on indefinitely… but alas, such were not the times that he inhabited. Casting a glance outside, the lion noticed with dismay that the earth was nearly the same color as his dusty, grimy pelt—the former was usually a bright and cheery green, and the latter was a hue of rich, dark brown… Now they were indistinguishable.

_The pride… it suffers…_

He rubbed his goatee thoughtfully, the unsettling tendrils of fear and alarm flowing through his troubled mind. There was nothing he could do, was there? His courses of action were quickly contracting, and any possible chance to make any change at all was sliding away from him like a snake fleeing death from an aerial predator.

Another look outside, and he slowly unsheathed his claws in defense. There was no stimulus for this in the proper sense, no tangible danger or terrifying threat: only the vague, looming sense of impending conflict and disquieting disrepair.

_Click… click…_

His toes absently tapped the rock, his mind perusing and inevitably rejecting most of his ideas for the rebuilding of the pride. Indeed, though, he was narrowing his options little by little, slowly focusing on one wispy idea of an action… an action so bold, so ridiculous, so _mendacious_… yet possibly necessary. But no. No. He couldn't think that far ahead. Not until things got worse, and the state of affairs was truly on its last leg, its final downward spiral… He had to act rationally—he couldn't do such a vile thing on a whim, like a madman.

Or could he…?

"_Scar! _Brother, I search for you… and I know you're around here."

The lion tensed up instinctively, a slight sigh parting his lips as he realized that hiding was futile. Seeing no other choice, he flicked his tail absently and rose to his feet, half-heartedly creeping to the entrance of his silently-putrefying domicile in his stealthy, almost slithering way.

"… Yes, Mufasa…? What could be the matter this time? Has someone oh-so deftly deigned to sleight you, hmm?"

"_Cut the lip_," he responded brusquely, to which Scar obeyed. The older lion was clearly in no mood for idle games. The brows of the eldest sibling promptly furrowed, and the very edges of his fangs were just visible beneath his scowling lips.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he muttered submissively, countenance bent into a vaguely wrought and terse expression as the last wisps of sarcasm and satire exited his being. A stifling silence enveloped them, and Mufasa only eyed him with a studying glare as they stood in silence.

"Have you seen the hunting party? They should have returned by now."

"They are probably running into difficulty. There's less prey now hereabouts, what with the drought and all…"

"This changes nothing. It's still unacceptable behavior…" his bared his teeth slightly in a firm growl, pacing back and forth as he eyed his younger sibling with a look of distrust. While his misgivings may have been righteous, it still was the trademark glance of a paranoid and exaggeratedly worried figure.

"What do you want me to do about it, Mufasa? You come to me with your quandaries as though I can actually solve them, but I will remind you that I possess absolutely no power in this situation."

Mufasa snorted and flicked his tail to and fro… he said nothing, but Scar could instantly tell that his agitation was slowly rising, like a tempest brewing in a darkened sea. Alas, that was never a good situation to be in: crushed under the brunt of Mufasa's acute and focused wrath. Having a practical and rational fear of his own brother's sharp claws and huge, muscled limbs, Scar would have tried to deflect some of his anger… but the several dark silhouettes which were just visible as they crept across the savanna spared him that opportunity.

"Well, brother…" he spoke up again, "it seems as though they have returned. Ask them yourself, if you would like."

The older lion turned and looked, and lo and behold! —several lionesses, headed by his mate Sarabi, were returning from a hunt. Empty-handed and late though they were, Scar involuntarily let out a relieved sigh at seeing them. Mufasa, however, was far ahead of him. Casting one more glance at his younger brother, perhaps to make sure that something about this wasn't awry, he leapt out of the cave and bolted across the rock shelf, taking his place upon the impromptu rock throne from whence he usually stood: the top of Pride Rock, which offered an astounding view of the surrounding lands and was hence the hub of their kingdom. The king briefly cleared his throat, and then noisily addressed the leader of the group of lionesses which was still ambling as a unit across the parched grasses.

"_SARABI!"_

His voice, loud and demanding, boomed across the surrounding expanses. In and out of rock caves, in the midst of the savanna, through the ears of each of the lions… it reverberated powerfully, leaving each of the inhabitants who heard it locked in a state of fear and wonder. Indeed, even Sarabi, calm and placid though she was, couldn't help but cast a surprised look about her as the king addressed her so angrily. Scar looked surprised as well, and sheepishly deigned to place a paw outside his cavern and cautiously watch the scene unfold before him, unseen by his older sibling.

"Yes, Mufasa?"

"Where is your hunting party? They aren't doing their job," he looked at her grimly, features twisted into a cross expression as he blandly studied her. Alas, Scar knew that expression well—Mufasa was in no mood for games. The small, wiry lion took a small step forwards, mouth hung open in distress and a vague sense of sympathy towards Sarabi. Several tendrils of fear again took hold and thrust themselves deep in his mind, setting his teeth on edge in apprehension as their confrontation continued…

"Hmmm, honey…" Sarabi heaved a deep sigh, clearly disappointed, "we tried, Mufasa. We all did. But sometimes it simply isn't enough. I'm trying to be a good mate, a good leader, and a good mother to our son, Simba. I'm sorry."

"_Then try harder!_" his voice rose profoundly, and the subtle unsheathing of his claws from his broad paws sent a clear signal to the rest of the lionesses: stand back. The king's younger sibling inwardly cringed, and indeed would have done something… if a golden ball of fur hadn't come ambling by him at that very moment. As a young cub and the son of a king, Prince Simba carried himself highly and with a considerable amount of brash confidence—he barely seemed to notice the old lion waiting just outside the cave, and was more intrigued by whatever was happening at Pride Rock. Thinking quickly, Scar reached a paw out and firmly pressed it down on the youth's tail, abruptly ceasing his proud step towards the kingdom's hub.

Oddly enough, the cub whirled around quickly, surprisingly cognizant of the old lion's attempt to stop him. In a moment, all of the small claws had been unsheathed and were digging with considerable force into Scar's forearm, drawing several droplets of crimson blood. The latter leapt in surprise and brought back his own paw, preparing himself for another sudden attack. Yet none came. In fact, when he finally let his guard down enough to look downwards, he saw that the cub was only beaming at him good-naturedly.

"Are you impressed, Uncle Scar? Dad taught me that today! We were out sparring again, and I killed two lizards for him!"

"Oh, yes… lizards… how did they taste?" he muttered distractedly, no longer paying attention to the cub. His attention was split roughly equally between the unfolding disturbance at Pride Rock—which had been amplified considerably and was increasing steadily in intensity—and the fresh, sizable cuts across his arm… which were disturbingly long for wounds inflicted by a mere cub.

_Much bigger than last time…_

"Oh, we didn't eat them, Uncle Scar—that'd be ridiculous! We just killed them for practice…" he trailed off, now suddenly distracted by something else, "… hey, what's going on with Mom and Dad?"

"My dear boy, that's nothing you need to concern yourself with," he simpered convincingly, drawing the cub closer to him with a protective paw, "you're much, _much _too young to understand."

"Ugh, Uncle Scar," the cub struggled persistently, trying to escape his uncle's hold, "I want to see!"

The older lion did not respond—he only tightened his hold on the cub as he continued to watch the argument between his brother and sister-in-law, appalled. Something seemed… _off_… about this. About all of this.

"… What's happened to you, Mufasa? I don't know what to think anymore!" the voice of Sarabi briefly arose from amidst the crowd of now protesting lionesses, before falling back into the midst of the murmur.

What happened next, however, was the pinnacle and the climax of the scuffle. Mufasa, countenance contorted into an expression of rage, brought up his paw in anger… before letting it brusquely hit his mate across the face, flinging her across the ground. Scar tensed up, and tried to avert the eyes of their offspring… but Simba, energetic in his curiosity as always, had eluded his uncle's grasp and was watching the scene with an expression of… interest.

Simba did not cower in fear, as would have been expected of a cub that size. Rather, he looked in seeming awe as his own father slapped his mother down. Scar looked on concernedly, suddenly feeling oddly protective of his nephew… but he didn't need it. No, not at all.

"Wow, did you see that, Uncle Scar?" he whispered quietly… mouth agape in surprise, "look at how he just showed that lioness her place! I bet she'll be sore for a week…"

Scar said nothing on this matter, even as the crowd of huntresses disseminated and Mufasa paced to and fro in an effort to calm himself. For several moments the younger lion stood, almost unfazed by the fact that the older brother was now slowly, calmly proceeding towards him…

"Dad!" Simba called out excitedly, running up to the older lion and playfully pouncing on him. A brisk tussle was quickly instigated, the cub's clear reverence for his twisted father obvious, even from afar. Neither of them flinched, even as extended claws scraped each others' pelts and drew blood. Every few seconds Simba would leap back to take a breath, fangs bared and fur bristling, before jumping fearlessly back into the fray. And in those moments, he didn't look like a lion cub. He looked like another violent tyrant in the making.

Sarabi lay on the ground, still dazed… and for a brief moment their eyes met equally. Two sets of eyes equally shallow with aversion and worry. Two faces twisted with horror and familial concern, both mother and uncle equally concerned for the well-being of the cub, the well-being of their family, and the well-being of the kingdom as a whole.

The gaze was broken, and Scar retreated to the cave, wishing to cast the sight out of his field-of-view. For a single, fleeting moment, he knew he had to do something—as the only other adult male, he was the sole candidate for leader aside from his brother. It was up to him to lead the pride out of chaos. And there was only one real choice, only one option for causing his brother to abdicate the throne. A path so outrageous that he felt ashamed for even thinking of it. Alas, chances were he would never go through with it… yet it still hung about tantalizingly in his mind, tempting him. Goading him into an irreversible course of action he could never amend… but in that moment he knew what he had to do, for the good of the pride.

_…Tyrannicide…_

* * *

_Eh, I think I spelled 'tyrannicide' right... it wasn't in Microsoft Word for whatever reason, but it means the killing of a tyrant. And the title 'Thus Always', as I'm sure some of you have figured out, refers to 'sic semper tyrannus' (sp?) - 'thus always to tyrants' in Latin. I believe it's what John Wilkes Booth said when he killed Abraham Lincoln, but don't quote me on that. x.x_

_If you're waiting on an update for Trampled or a response to a PM, then it may be a while - I've reached a temporary impasse with the former and tend to procrastinate with the latter (although I do assuredly read and enjoy whatever you deign to send me ;])._

_Anyways, as always, R&R or F&F - whichever floats your boat. :p I'd really love some feedback, since it is (as I said) an experiment. And lastly, please don't tell me Mufasa or Scar are OOC. I already know that. :3_

_Twin (:_


	2. Sordid Principles

_**A/N: **_

_I don't really have anything better to do at the moment (it being 3 am and all), and I wanted a slight break from Trampled, so I decided to write out the second chapter to this because of all the positive reviews I got. XD Updates come when they come, so I don't know when the next one will be, but I did plan out most of this fic and am interested in it. :) _

_FAQ: (I'll be doing two to three of these every chapter... way easier than answering every review x.x)_

**_Have you read Nietzsche or played Baldur's Gate? _**_No, I don't know what either of those are. XD I saw the quote elsewhere on the site but didn't remember who said it or what exactly it was, so I did a rough paraphrase. Hopefully I didn't butcher it too bad (it was in the notes of **readsmanyfavsfew**'s fic, if you must know). _

**_Is there going to be ScarxSarabi in this? _**_Geez, people, you've gotta know everything, don't you? XD _

_(I just answered a question with a question... XD don't answer it, though. I know you all do, but I don't do spoilers. ;])._

_Enjoy, people! :D_

* * *

What was he asking for? He didn't know. Was he seeking help? It was possible; there was no doubt that, if it were, it was help for his sordid crime.

_Don't think like that. Or you'll never be able to go through with this…_

He shook his head briefly, as if to clear it of moisture or a physical sensation instead of a disturbing thought. His paws moved swiftly in spite of his indecision, and his rapid movements only served to remind him that his task was something important… at least, it seemed important. Every once in a while he would stumble in the dark, though he felt quite secure in his way—he had traveled around these parts a few times before and felt quite confident by now, despite the fact that the night often concealed that which deserved to be hidden from the purity of daylight…

The lion's pelt blended with the shadows, and his scent trail had been masked by the river he had crossed. Even if his brother noticed his absence, he was unlikely to be able to track him: indeed, his main concern was with the return trip. If Mufasa found out that he was going here, doing what he was, with the intent that he was, at this time…

_What am I getting into? _

He gulped audibly, not wanting to think about it, and instead focused his attention on the ditch ahead. Speeding up into a full sprint, he fearlessly leapt over it, landing softly on the other side. The dark lion noted, with a winded huff, that it was now official—he was outside the Pridelands, and was technically trespassing on lands outside the borders. Considering that he was a prince, this was especially dangerous… however, he was fortunate enough to have friends on the other side who would receive him gratefully. He only hoped that he would be lucky enough to procure assistance—that they would be willing to help him in light of his continued kindness.

The lion slowed his pace and trotted downhill, trying to prevent his paws from skidding and making unnecessary noise. All that gave way was a fraction of the dry, dusty terrain, and he would have thought that he was being quite stealthy. Yet that didn't prevent the ground from suddenly lighting up with a myriad of flickering, green flames, which appeared as though his very presence had inexplicably kindled them out of the darkness. Eyes. Scar felt his hackles bristle slightly as he approached the coming welcoming crowd, which was gathered in the midst of their territory: more specifically, the elephant graveyard. His sinuous body easily found passage through the more awkward areas, such as protruding tusks of ivory and the insides of skulls… yet this time, it was not tripping or making noise he was worried about.

This place had, as a cub, always made him uneasy—and it still did, albeit to a lesser extent. He always felt like he was being watched, even when those piercing, eerie eyes were nowhere to be seen. Shadows and fog chronically covered the entire area with an aura of murky, inky darkness. Bats inhabited the caves and odd crevices, and every once in a while the howl of a dog or the hoot of an owl was distinguishable through the otherwise complete silence. The only sound was the padding of his paws, and the rare crunch of ash or dirt underfoot… his insides churned a bit despite himself, and he was suddenly confronted with the overwhelming feeling of walking into chaos.

It was bad enough during the day and twilight hours, but darkness brought a whole new dimension to his predisposed cautiousness. In spite of it all, however, he was a prince, and he was intent on carrying himself in the manner prescribed by his position. This was no time to act like a coward, and a small prick of disdain flickered in his chest as he thought of himself as such: despite mingling with these dirty beings in their dirty home, he was still a noble individual. And he would demand that he be treated like one.

"Little far from home, aren'tcha, lion? Why, that's no good, eh…?"

The flashing of sharp, wet fangs appeared below two sets of glistening orbs—a twisted, perverse grin illuminated by the scant moonlight.

"You could get lost," another sleazy voice chimed in from his rear, a chill running down the lion's spine as he realized they had, without his knowledge, surrounded him. "… And we all know what sorts 'a… _accidents_… happen ta those who stumble and lose their way."

"Keep your distance."

He did his best to ignore their quiet circling—it didn't cease, despite the fact that they now clearly recognized him. The first hyena laughed bemusedly, and motioned to his slower compatriot.

"Wow, it's Scar. Ya see that?"

"I don't believe you," he retorted with a flat, almost confused rebuttal, "Scar's always got food in 'is muzzle. And he doesn't come at this late 'n hour."

"He ain't got food with 'im? Well, that's a real shame… but that doesn't mean he can't still give us a meal. Besides, I've been yearning for somethin' _fresher_ than carrion, scrawny though it might be…"

"Yeah, I want somethin' nice and warm… and breathing!"

"Hold your tongues. You have better and _easier_ meals coming than me." The lion flicked his tail and ignored them. He didn't know whether or not they were merely teasing with him, but he did know that this was the best way to deter potential trouble and incite their curiosity. They could tell, even at a glance, that he was here for an important reason. And surely enough, their hopes were not extinguished when he approached the heart of the matter. "I have a proposition to make with you."

A pause followed, the soft scuttling of a wayward animal being the only noise to perforate the silent milieu around them. The hyenas looked amongst themselves, their pelts raised threateningly.

"… So?" he prompted, prying for an answer.

"Grr… you pushy lions," the hyena taunted basely, relenting, "I'm assuming you wish to speak with Shenzi…?"

"That would be best."

The hyena growled, pacing away and motioning for his friend to follow. He looked back, making sure that the prince was right behind him—he was, and he looked quite unfazed at that. Scar continued his quiet, collected walk, his gentle breathing causing small puffs of condensation to rise in the slowly-cooling air. Everything seemed to move slowly, the lion's luminescent eyes flitting to and fro as he studied his scraggly, spacious surroundings. It was silent out here; so silent and so far removed…

_Nothing like the Pridelands._

_ … _Or was it? The way things were going, it could not be said for sure. It was a gloomy prediction, in any case, but how far was it from being veracious?

He sighed, a subtle yet rich suspiration, and blinked slowly, his eyes having to adjust to the lack of moonlight as he complacently followed his companions into a dank, musty cave. His nose was quickly assailed by the foul odor of rotting meat, grime, and mildew; and his face crinkled slightly in dissatisfaction.

The leader of the pack was Shenzi, a relatively intelligent female with an attitude to match. He was always careful around her, both in words in actions, though she clearly respected him more than the average lion at this point and invited him in with a quick gesture. Having dismissed the two other hyenas, they commenced with their usual small talk for a few moments, the troubled lion absently scratching at the rock floor as she chatted with him.

"… Is somethin' wrong?" she interrupted after a few moments of prolonged silence, "ya don't normally act like this, Scar…" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, though he didn't notice or meet her gaze. His mind was focused outside, on the bright crescent moon and the horrifying skeletons it illuminated. Agitated, he made another jagged scratch at the ground…

"Hey, if ya aren't gonna say nothin', then why'd ya come out here to talk ta me? Could you give me some attention, please?"

"… I'm all ears."

"In all seriousness…" she fixed him with a more serious glare, "why _are _ya out here? Why'd ya come from Mufasa's side this late at night?"

He looked at her, his ears pricking and something in his eyes changing. They glowed and burned with an uncharacteristic sense of… uncertainty. That was not like him, and certainly something worth noting. Ceasing his absent fiddling, he decided to simply and austerely tell her exactly what he meant.

"I'm…" he paused for a moment, trying to extract the words from his muted throat, "… I'm not on Mufasa's side anymore."

"What?" she yapped at him quickly, puzzled. "No, that ain't right. What nonsense are you talkin' 'bout now, Scar? You wouldn't… _betray_… your brother?" The inflection of those last words was oddly twisted—it was clearly a question, yet there was still an odd smile coming to her face. Those fangs did indeed look sharp when they were mere inches from his face…

"You mustn't tell a soul, Shenzi."

That suppliant, pleading stare of his was too much. She laughed good-naturedly, reassuringly slapping him on the back and eventually continuing into a fit of mirth, as the hyenas were so well-known for.

"Do you swear?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," she dismissed him brusquely, her mood obviously heightened by this rather… interesting… discovery. Scar growled a little, indignant, but he remained silent. His secret was now in her paws—it would be beneficial if he didn't give her a reason to be angry with him. Gossip on the savanna spread like wildfire across the dry prairie grasses, and if Mufasa caught wind of it… well, much more than just his plan would be endangered.

"I'm serious, Shenzi… I need your hel—"

"Nuh-uh, no, I ain't gettin' into no political infightin' against the king. What if you don't win? Where's that leave us?"

"When have I ever failed you, Shenzi?" Scar smiled for the first time, the corners of his mouth curving with his teeth just visible under his curled lips. It was so false, so underhanded… yet so convincing. "You know, I've risked so much as it is in smuggling you food and giving you aid… you know my brother would by no means _condone_ interaction between us."

"_Heh_, of course not…" she muttered under her breath. "'Sfar as I'm concerned he can go suck the hind end of a wildebeest's—"

"_Shenzi_," he snapped, a nervous chuckle briefly expressing his inwardly cautious, careful disposition, "let's be civil. He's my brother, after all. So could you please…? I'm asking you for but _one_ favor. Haven't my efforts been enough to unite us harmoniously in at least this?"

Shenzi honed her annoyed gaze on him, a brief eye roll accenting her general frustration with all of this lion's pleading. Apparently not. Nonetheless, it was such a tempting turn of events…

"How do I know I can trust ya? If you can betray your own _brother_, what's ta say ya won't do the same ta us?"

Scar took a sharp breath, stung by the profoundness of her sudden question. More importantly, he found he didn't have a sufficient answer—how could he tell her otherwise? How could he say that she could trust him when he was here planning fratricide with her? His teeth were set on edge, again reminded of the high stakes, of how much he was putting at risk: his life, his reputation, his position… what could he do?

It wasn't too late to turn back. He could forget this episode and return home.

Home… yes, to his putrid and dismal cave, to the lackluster view and the slowly withering plains. He remembered the pride, his nephew, and his sister-in-law. Whether any of them liked it or not, they needed him, and he would do whatever necessary to protect the pride.

Whatever necessary.

"You, Shenzi… you and the pack will be handsomely rewarded."

"With _what_?"

He sighed desperately, feeling her press him into that mental corner. His mind worked overtime to try to escape from it, but it was mostly fruitless. The lion didn't know what to offer her—what would she value? And what would he easily be able to procure for her once he had the throne?

"A place in the Pridelands."

"No," she rebutted, and Scar could have sworn she was purposefully being stubborn to annoy him, "this's been our home fa generations. I wouldn't want ta leave."

Scar's ears drooped. That wasn't feasible anyways—lions and hyenas had stayed separate for as long as anyone could remember, and uniting them was a foolish and silly idea. It would only cause more discord.

"… Food." He looked at her briefly, noting the negative expression on her face and growing desperate. "I promise, you won't go hungry. And if you choose, I'll give you royal support for whatever—"

"Hush a moment, now, before ya make us all these promises." She studied him thoughtfully, more than aware of the fact that he could have gone to others for this operation… yet he hadn't. He had come to her with something so deadly and potent that it could effortlessly be used to his absolute, catastrophic detriment.

He trusted her. A lot. And she could use that to her pack's advantage.

"Now ya've told us, Scar, what you're gonna give us if ya become the king 'n' all…" she looked him solidly in the eye, "… but what if you _fail_?"

"If I fail?" he paused a moment, tensing up as she nodded assent. Scar felt as though she had no faith in him, which was doubtlessly not reassuring. Had he made a mistake coming here? Should he have sought assistance elsewhere, or done something else? Possibly. Yet by now it was surely too late. He had to give it everything—if he failed, his actions were sure to entail consequences.

"If I fail, and Mufasa finds out of my plot, you are disbanded and owe me no further fealty. And…" he felt his throat constrict tightly before he could mouth the words, as though a serpent had securely coiled itself around his windpipe. In the end, all he could do was emit a soft whisper: "… _then you can do as you like with me_."

The lion looked downwards, refusing to meet her gaze as she displayed an enthralled smile.

"I think I like that. Yes. Yes, I do. You'll still deliver us food, though, won'tcha? I'd hate for us to help ya and then have ya _forget _who you owe, now…"

He nodded, silent.

"I think we have a deal then, wouldn'tcha agree? Now come on, don't be so dejected." Shenzi extended her paw out to him with a seemingly friendly smile, bidding him to take it. He held out his own and then stopped, diffident… before clenching his teeth together and closing the rest of the distance between them, his clawed paw meeting with her grubby, somewhat muddy one. They shook briefly, but Shenzi glared daggers at him by the time he released it.

"Jus' remember one thing, now: I am _not _Mufasa." She bared her fangs slightly—and though she said no more, her message was tacit: _if ya dare to go back on your end, then ya'll be no more than lunch meat._

"Now," she returned to her normal demeanor, almost as though nothing had happened, "what exactly didja have in mind?"

He nearly hung his head in shame, though he quickly perked up and refocused his attention on her, blatantly choosing to forget what had just transpired. All that mattered was here and now—they were on his side, and now it was time to plan for the damning deed. He grimaced, feeling somewhat guilty that he already had the faintest inkling of an idea.

"The gorge." He stated bluntly, trying to ignore his pointed lack of confidence. "I was thinking a stampede… in the gorge."

* * *

_I made the hyenas a bit more independent in this... in any case, I'd say Scar is a bit wary of what will happen, probably because he's put himself in a pretty vulnerable position. What'd you guys think? Some dastardly plotting going on or what?_

_Leave a thought! *ahem*_

_Hey, you just read this, and this is crazy, but see that button? Review it maybe. All my other fans, try to folllllloowwww me, but see that button? Review it maybe._

_[ For the record, if you understand the reference, I hate that song. x.x Just don't keep silent! ]_

_Vayan con Dios!_

_Twin (:_


	3. Past and Future

_**A/N:**_

_Well, I decided to give you all an update in half the time of my last one! Bet you all are excited, right? Party time! Woooooo!_

_Alright, now cut it out. It's midnight and I'm sure you all have neighbors. So I'll get these notes done fast, and you can be on your way and off to sleep, or whatever it is you do at this time of night other than reading fanfics. Capische?_

**_Scar's got friends on the other side! Oh my goodness! Is that a PATF reference? _**

_You expect me to remember? I wrote that at 3 AM, over a month ago. But yes, it probably was... lol_

**_The hyenas are evil, and Scar's afraid of them? Nice twist!_**

_Yeah, more subtle changes. If I'm going to go out there and _completely change _Mufasa and Scar's roles and personalities, I may as well change them too to adjust to that. Wow, this fic is crazy. *.* _

**_I can't think of a third question! What do I do?_**

_Do what I just did! But don't make it look like you're talking to yourself out of desperation: that's just insane..._

_Of course, I'm already crazed for writing this. And I'm enjoying it! ;o Angsty angst this chapter... plus two certain lovebirds..._

* * *

"Pinned ya!"

"Alright, lemme up! Come on, Nala!"

"Pfffttttbbb," the tongue of a little lioness was the first thing to greet the young prince Simba as he opened his eyes and reluctantly noted the solid, deft paws resting on his shoulders. Pouncing was not his forte—trouncing was, but pouncing…? A huntresses' gig. And his best friend was more than certainly going to be a capable huntress when she matured.

"Fine," she finally relented, retreating jubilantly and enthusiastically off of her friend with a haughty smile, "but I still _beat _you, Simba."

"Nyeh-ne-ne-nyeh," he mocked caustically, "you win at pouncing. Can we fight now?"

Nala's ears visibly drooped at this proposition: must he always say that? With a sigh, she contemplated this, "… Simba, we already fought. You're too rough."

"Be a girl then," he jibed teasingly, "… wanna wrestle?"

"_Simba_"—she paused with an irritable huff—"what did I _just _say?"

"That I'm tough and manly," he grinned with that proud smile of his, advancing closer to her skeptical figure. "Don't deny it—that's exactly what you meant."

"Oh, _please_." She batted him good-naturedly with her paw, which only aggravated the problem. Simba dropped down into a pouncing position and let out a yowl—his version of a roar—and swiped at her right back. Having no other choice, and understanding by now that he wasn't going to relent, Nala decided to simply play along and have fun. There was really no harm in it. Avoiding the sharp edges of the precarious boulders scattered throughout their dry and deserted surroundings, she leapt at Simba and proceeded to scuffle with him.

"Come on, Nala. You can do better than that!"

She giggled a little, charmed by his attitude. Finally, though, her face hardened with determination, tongue slightly unfurled with the effort as she attempted to embrace his golden neck with her paws and bring him to the ground. The cub relented, standing strong and resisting her efforts at flipping him over. He was surprised to find that she had a little bit of fight in her, and that she would be even tougher than most of his other opponents to beat. The sun shone directly down on them, just as it did with their bleached surroundings, and it wasn't long before the two of them were panting and sweaty.

"Hey, you wanna give up?" Simba offered, dodging one of her blows and passing her an overconfident simper.

"_No_."

"Alright, then. It'll just be more humiliating when I _beat you!_" He finally leapt at her, the latter again laughing heartily as he _nearly _pinned her. But, of course, she was too deft for that—she dodged his mistimed jump and scuffled with him more. She swiped him a little more harshly than she had intended, her little claws abrading some of the fur away from his face. He gritted his teeth and growled, eyes burning with even more determination when he withdrew. His mock fury, and the desire in him to win, pushed him forwards into a monstrous leap. The prince's paws collided with her shoulders, and before they knew it they were tumbling one over the other down the rocky, tortuous slope.

"_Whhhhooooooo-ahhhhh!" _Nala couldn't help but call out in surprise as she tumbled head-over-heels, barely able to control their fall. And yet, through it all, she was still somehow able to dexterously position her body in the most advantageous way possible, in order to land in just the right way on the rock below them…

"Pinned ya _again_! Whooooo!"

"Alright, _alright_," Simba looked miffed, though she couldn't tell through his expression exactly how annoyed he was at her second victory. Of course, it didn't really matter—it was obvious that she was simply toying with him. As unpredictable and goofy as he could be, she still felt close to her best friend.

"Not 'til ya say I'm the best fighter here!"

"Nuh-uh, I'm the prince, and you all will have to do what I say one day!" he squirmed under her paws, eyes flitting about their surroundings as he awkwardly tried to escape.

"One day—but not today!" Nala smiled teasingly, and after a moment she began to laugh heartily, enjoying the fun moment with her friend. Simba too appeared to lighten up, though he quickly realized that it would be better for him to take advantage of the moment: and so, with one simple and strong move, he put all of his weight into shoving her off, and would have pinned her had she not been so nimble.

He could never pin her. That was the problem. But he could fight, and he knew it. They tussled briefly, and this time he could tell he was winning. Closer and closer they got, sweaty bodies pressed together as each tried to knock down and wrestle with the other.

_Yes… Yes… Yes!_

And then, before he knew what was happening, he was just one move away from—

"AAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"N-Nala? What's wrong?" Simba immediately stopped, his face betraying concern for more delicate, feminine adversary. "Did I hurt you?"

Of course, the answer to his question was quite self-evident without her providing any answer: alas, she was unable to speak due to the tears which had spontaneously arrived and were streaming down her young, supple body, effectively choking her up. Surely enough, on her right foreleg, there were clear claw marks where Simba had become just a little too frisky for their own good. They ran down most of the length of her appendage, breaking the hide and drawing lines of blood from within.

"… I-I'm sorry, Nala. I didn't mean to do that."

She remained silent, and, despite herself, felt a bit angry and indignant. Emotionally hurt as well as physically wounded. Indeed, it was silly—foolish even—to be upset at him… but he _did_ have an annoying propensity for playing too rough. This was not the first of these "accidents", unfortunately. Simba knew that as well as she did, and now he clearly wanted to make it up to her.

What would he do?

… What would _his father_ do to cheer him up?

"Hey…" he chuckled a little despite the suddenly terse mood, "it's okay, Nala. At least we didn't fall into the gorge. You know what they say about _that _place…?"

She sniffed a little, wiping the tears on her forearm. Simba always had the most bombastic schemes and stories and designs, it was really quite entertaining to listen to him. Perhaps he could cheer her up. "… Oh?"

"They say that bad spirits come down there, late at night. When no one is watching. Just think, if we'd fallen and been trapped…" his eyes glinted with an esoteric air, a small grin coming as he circled her.

"Really?" she queried in spite of herself. "But I thought that only the good ones could—"

"—Yes, Nala, that's what they all thought. But you see, that happened to a lioness cub once. One a lot like you. Fell down, broke her leg… couldn't get out. They heard her cries for help, but not a living soul dared to go down and help her. Not until the sun broke, but by then… it was too late." Simba continued with his little story, enjoying his companion's easily engrossed expression.

"Because if you're not careful, only a matter of time before they _get you!_"

Simba finally jumped closer to Nala to accentuate his point, the latter shrieking in surprise and laughter as she tried to swat him away. He was obviously trying again to pin her, and was actually just about to succeed for the first time: her impeded leg made it difficult for her to move. Alas, she simply couldn't stay angry at the impetuous Simba for long—he was persistent. She had to give him that much. And she was just about to give in and let him dominate her when a sharp voice cut through and interrupted his almost-success. Which was a shame, really.

"I wouldn't joke about that, boy. Your father told you to _stay within the boundaries he marked for you_. The gorge is far off limits, as you _well _know."

Simba stopped, dismayed, and distanced himself from Nala, a vaguely distressed expression on his face. Alas, he didn't know what to say, and so he remained silent. The lioness cub, however, trotted over to the older lion with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Scar. Simba brought me here, and I… I didn't know."

"That's quite alright, dear," he tenderly drew her close to him with a paw, obviously concerned, "it's no fault of yours that he sees fit to _endanger_ himself and his future… intended. He has good intentions and affection for you, my sweet, and sometimes he does get a bit _engrossed_ in the things his father tells him. But do not doubt that many strange things have happened in the gorge. Lions go there to mourn. For atonement. Silence. It's sacred ground… Which is why you mustn't play around here. Neither of you. Not to mention that the cliff walls could be dangerous, and with the Day of Thanks coming in but a few days…"

He trailed off and looked absently off towards the gorge, a wrought expression on his face. Something about _him _seemed a little strange, simply by the way he was acting. As her uncle, she was close enough to him to know when thinking hard of something or when he was distracted. Not to mention his show of almost filial concern for her—or alas, for anyone but her mother, uncle, and grandmother—was odd in itself. And his temper, which seemed to be worn shorter than usual, did little to conceal that something major must have been troubling his normally calm, even mind.

She was more right than she knew.

_In but a few days… _

… _In but a few days the hunt will be _hijacked.

A lump formed in his throat as he continued to hold the cub against him. All of this… was for them. For their well-being. They could not live under a tyrant forever—though he was the king and the one in almost absolute authority, gifted with the birthright that had come down from his lineage and was blessed by his ancestors—what he did was not right. It was tainting the royal throne, making their progenitors displeased. And the land was suffering. They were suffering because of it.

"Uncle Scar?"

_Forgive us… please, forgive us our trespasses._

"… Hmmm?"

"Dad said I could watch the hunt from Lookout Rock when they go. He said I'm old enough to be present at such an important event so I could learn about our pride's vibrant history and culture," Simba interjected, puffing out his chest as he gruffly recited his father's statement verbatim. As usual, Scar looked unimpressed at best, and his demeanor seemed to show the cub—in no uncertain terms—that he had little patience for his shortsighted and extravagant displays of silliness. The cub knew better than to push him on days like these, but then, he was only his uncle after all.

"Yes, well… does this look like Lookout Rock? All I can see is jagged boulders surrounded by prime hunting ground. And if you get caught in a stampede, young prince, _you _may well end up running off the edge along with our meal."

Simba appeared oddly slighted, though he did know better than to mouth off to him. His father had no doubt sent him on some menial chore—this time to watch his niece and nephew. The prince and the future princess. His playtime was over, as it was no doubt time to return and start a lesson with his father.

Of course, it went without saying that Scar would do whatever necessary to make sure Simba didn't go. He didn't want his innocent nephew caught up in the chaos which would ensue at that gorge very soon.

"Come, both of you. Simba, your father will be very upset if finds out that—_my goodness, _child, did you fall in those thorns yet another time?"

"N-no," Nala stammered quietly from his side, knowing he was referring to the fresh wounds on her leg, "I… I tripped and then… Simba gave them to me on accident."

"Simba," Scar stated sternly, "how many times have I warned you about _this_?"

The golden cub shrugged callously, though he actually was aware of the degree and multitude of his uncle's warnings. He simply and inevitably didn't pay them much mind. Mistakes though they were, he had been through this process more times than he could count. The dark lion simply didn't seem to want to deal with it, though his authority over his brother's offspring was sadly limited: his elder would no doubt have his hide if anything bad were to happen to the treasured prince. He had to be careful about losing his temper, and about when and how harshly he castigated him.

Were this not so, however, it was certain that Scar would have straightened Simba out in more than one way. Whether he wanted to be or not, the cub could be a thorn in his side—and possibly even worse one day—due to the king's… questionable… upbringing. And though the older lion loved his nephew as family, there was no doubt that he had the potential to grow up into something much worse…

In any case, he knew that Sarafina would be livid. And that, too, was something he didn't want to deal with. He really didn't want to upset someone so close to him like that…

"Simba…"

"Yes, Uncle Scar?"

"I want you to apologize to Nala's mother when we get back. I don't know how many times she's had to _deal _with her daughter being bloody and covered in cuts and bruises." The dark lion hunched over, weariness chiseled into his features as he leaned over and picked up Nala by the scruff. She dangled limply from his jaws, his expression becoming blank as he continued forward, Simba trailing him closely.

He was chatting. Saying something about hyenas, about grandiose battles and bloodthirsty crocodiles and traitorous lions and other obstacles his father and his father and _his _father had supposedly endured. The dark lion nodded respectfully every now and again to convince the boisterous cub he was listening, yet it was all a lie. Most of the words slipped past his russet ears. After all, how could he be expected to listen when there was already far more clamor going on between them?

_I am a prince, too. I was always a prince. And yet… _

"… and then he killed the leader to prove his point to the rest of them. Isn't that interesting, Uncle Scar?" Simba piped up, briefly disregarding the fact that Scar could not mouth a coherent sentence due to the pale cub in his mouth. "… You know, my grandfather sounds like a very heroic lion. Don't you think, Uncle Scar?"

Another pang inside of him, this one more profound than the others. A craving gnawing at his core. Heroic? No, that could not be further from the truth. He was just like Mufasa, and what of his little brother? He was that one word, left with that one name which would forever mark him.

He could remember now. Shunned. Alone. Afraid. No brother there to protect him, no parent to fend off his attackers. Closing in, shadows pressing in from every side as his body shivered with cold and hunger. He didn't want to remember, but the flashbacks were coming back more now as he prepared for the game-changing act. Simba bringing up his best-forgotten father did nothing to soothe his agitated feelings.

_"Look at him shake! I bet he's just scared to death of us!"_

Laughter… cruel laughter. It was coming back to him now, all those tortures he'd endured. And all because of what he'd done.

"_I'm sorry, I should pay more respect to a _prince, _the son of our beautiful queen. Oh, wait!"_

"_N-n-no! Please, stop! Please…"_

He saw their merciless, pitiless faces, their open mockery of him. Heard his own suppliant cries as the lightning flashed behind them. Oh, how he'd tolerated so much then. Truly he hadn't seen just how weak he was. They were right all along, and now…? He was about to do the worst crime of them all. Just whose fault was it?

… And what he would do to get rid of that _one name. _He could see it coming a mile away, like a swarm of bees never leaving. Always stinging him when he wanted to run away from it. His grip on Nala tightened inadvertently, the teeth in his jaw gritting around the loose fur of her scruff.

"_Look at him! It's the Prince!"_

_"The Prince of Misfortune!"_

_"The Prince of nothing!"_

_"Prince—"_

"Scar! Brother!"

He sighed with relief, his mind having been spared of that torment, of hearing his birth-name yet again. Yet this voice was all too real, all too there… and as he held the cub in his mouth, he shrank back, feeling small yet again. Left and right, he always seemed to be failing someone, always seemed to be coming up short…

_I'm sorry._

* * *

_Kind of wrote that last part on a whim as more of his thoughts. I completely planned out things like OCs, character relations, etc... so I really am beginning to know where this is going. Most of the planning now is probably just going to be polishing the plot and themes._

_Oh_,_ and I suppose I should clear up one thing before I leave..._

_His birthname in this fic is not_ _Taka. I repeat, his birthname in this fic is_ **NOT **_Taka, or trash... it's something else. The reason being that, in my opinion, people accept semi-canon things like TLK:6NA and Tale of Two Brothers (and yes, they are semi-canon, seeing as it was published but not written by Disney... sorry Kopa fans) as fact too easily, and it's becoming cliche. Don't get me wrong, I've used it in my fics too... but these things are like safety blankets. They're nice to write from because it leaves less to explain and more that your readers already know. But I decided to distance myself from anything semi-canon/fanon as much as possible. That includes popular fan theories, the TV show, the video games/KH, the books, and any sort of spin-offs... Even the sequels will be largely ignored, with only limited borrowing from TLK II. Anything not my own creation or indisputably settled as concrete fact in the first movie is probably going to be disregared in this fic._

_That includes Scar's backstory. I want to pique your curiosity with something new, so don't all scratch your heads when his name is revealed as_

* * *

_...What, you thought I was going to say it? Pffft, no, I'm not giving away that much, silly!_

_Vayan con Dios and all that, mis gentes!_

_Twin :)_


	4. Accidents Happen

**_A/N:_**

_I spy, I spy, with my little eye, a chapter of a dramatic story about Scar, Mufasa, and Simba, with a somewhat-surprising ending. Can you find it? _

_No, don't hit the back button! You're already there. Look below the line... after you read the FAQ, of course. Duh. :p_

**_Are you establishing the_ _Pridelands as having a Thanksgiving equivalent?_**

_*assuming this Guest is Snappy* No, I was just totally messing with you guys! Pay no attention to the author behind the curtain! I promise it's not important and will not be mentioned again, honest! ;p_

**_Wait, so will you be borrowing anyone from TLK II, since you said its influence would be limited?_**

_Zira may make an appearance, as well as her three... children... or whatever they are... from the movie. Probably not anyone else, though. Just keep your eyes peeled!_

**_... Whoa, whoa, back up the truck... is Scar Nala's uncle too? O.o_**

_Yep! Technically, anyways... by marriage. You'll all see later. And before you pounce on me as being an incest-supporting sicko freak, remember that royal families in real life have historically married off relatives to keep their bloodline pure. Or something like that. Blame Mufasa, don't blame me. xD_

* * *

"_Brother, what happened to her? Was it… Simba?"_

_ "Yes."_

Scar rolled over quietly in his sleep, echoes of the last few days playing in his mind. Or at least it seemed like sleep to him. In reality, he was in the groggy, surreal state between waking consciousness and languid slumber, though he didn't know it. It seemed all too real to him.

_"I'm sorry."_

"_I… I have to go to the hunt. Can you… look after Nala?"_

He caught that look in her eye, the same as he'd seen so many times before. She was sad, rueful. One glance at her, and then one at the prince. He knew what would happen next. Yet in this state, he was bound to replay it for as long as it troubled him.

"_Sara… why now?"_

Another step closer, and his dark, forest green eyes met with her aquatic sapphire ones. They were so different, so unlike each other… anyone could see that there was no fine point between them, no way they could truly be of the same blood. They both looked over their shoulders at the prodigal son, the two sets of eyes similarly narrowed in a display of their congruous mannerisms.

_"… why him? If you're worried about her, then—"_

"_I _am_ worried, Scar. I love my daughter. Simba's his son, but… maybe he'll be better if they have each other." _

Another few paces towards the dried, parched savanna. The remnants of a once bountiful hunting ground, now inexplicably dried by drought and the hard times they had fallen upon.

"… _But we must be better also, and for me that means hunting like a responsible pride member. You remember what Mother said—we get what we deserve."_

And then she had left, continuing out into the great, open expanses of their homeland without another word. He couldn't remember what else she'd done, if it had been anything at all—like the rest of his memories and dreams, the scene was blurry. It must have not been enough to make a mark on him—the only reason he remembered at all was his thought of her comment… because honestly, how could she say that? That they deserved such tyranny? But all these thoughts had only a moment to course through his mind, as inevitably it turned onto other things. Other things he remembered.

Another scene was before him, this one much darker... even though it had occurred scarcely an hour later. He was lying in the sun, licking Nala's arm and cleaning it of the blood. She was asleep in his forepaws, enjoying a light nap while her mother went away. It was a pleasant day, nothing out of the ordinary… and it was somewhat gratifying to him.

She was so beautiful, so close… and in his mind's image especially, she was a spitting image of her mother. He didn't know it, nor did he consciously think of her in those terms. Yet his mind filled in the subtext of his thoughts and reproduced her accordingly. In here especially her blue eyes gleamed that shade of aqua, and her voice was significantly more mature and like her mothers' than it really was.

Nala was a close relative. A beloved niece. And then there was Simba, standing next to her, a miffed expression on his face.

"_How come you never do stuff like that with me?"_

Guilt.

He wanted to put the past behind him. He really did. The cub deserved that much: as his nephew, he deserved his accepting, objective love. For in the end, Simba was technically more closely related to him than Nala was—he was his pure, flesh-and-blood family, and he carried the non-diluted blood of the royal line within his veins. He was a part of him, and he should have treated him as such.

"_Oh, but Simba… surely I do."_

He _did _love him. What Mufasa did was not his fault. And yet, as he instinctively saw Sarafina every time he looked upon Nala, so it was that every time he gazed upon his golden figure, he saw another one of his brother. He didn't want it to get in the way of them. He'd tried to ignore their unsettling similarities. Yet when he said that, it only made their distance more apparent…

"_No, we don't…"_

Simba stated the truth with a frown… and though it consciously shocked the already distraught lion, his subconscious mind had already made the connection. Asserted his innate aversion to him. For while one moment he was staring at a helpless, innocent cub, the next he was much smaller—little more than a mere cub himself—and looking at a grown version of Simba. Mufasa. Whoever it was: in this dreamscape, he could not be sure. And with another blink, pain was searing through him, highlighting the identities of past, present, and future oppressors.

"_No!" _a horrible scream racked Simba's twisting body as his form shifted,the sound of the words morphing and echoing. "_No, you aren't! You hold no shame!"_

Scar shrunk back in fear as everything before him was switched around. At first it had been Simba's confused young squeak, but then it had quickly taken on a sinister, almost demonic tone in step with the changing of his bodily form. It grew deeper, and though it was based off a real and all-too-familiar voice, the timbre of it had been changed by his own impressions of its speaker. Partly ethereal, partly surreal, and partly mnemonic, the figure continued taunting him with horrid, indistinguishable words.

"_I'm sorry, dad! Please!"_

Then there was his own voice, albeit from a much earlier time, coming from his now small, groveling figure. Pleading something. It almost made him sick… Although he supposed he was only marginally better off now. They did all of this on purpose, all of this to torment him. He wanted to let it go, but he somehow never could. He felt so small, so weak and pitiable…

"_Quiet!" _A fierce roar racked the figure of what could only be his father, though the image was easily a hundred times more terrifying than it had ever been in real life. His golden coat shone with its own luminescence, and his amber-brown eyes had been amplified into a bloody shade of red. Venom dripped from monstrous fangs, the pit of his mouth a horrible, shadowy black which led into—and no doubt reflected—the darkened depths of his shattered soul. "_Don't you say that… you are not my—"_

"Brother."

Scar reflexively jerked awake, simultaneously grateful for the interruption of his dream and struck by the vestiges of fright which had begun their ugly reawakening. His spine was covered in sweat, his eyes borne with a wild and fraught look. The part of him that wasn't afraid of his visceral night-terrors was immediately suspicious—rarely did Mufasa call him "brother". Surely he was buttering him up for some menial chore.

Whatever it was, it couldn't have been very pleasant.

No matter which way he spun it, however, today was the day. The day of the stampede. He knew it… and, unfortunately, so did the inner depths of his mind. His entire body was wrought with it on a physical level: his nerves felt frayed and flighty, his innards wrung themselves together in fear and apprehension… no, it couldn't have been today. Someday, _any _day but today.

He knew he couldn't stop it. The best option was to comply, to keep the suspicion off of him and acquiesce to his demands. Perhaps it would work to his advantage.

"And what would you have me toil at this fine morning, Your Highness?"

The lion still couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice, though heavens knew he tried. How could this be used to help his own means? How could he even gaze upon his brother's eyes? Those eyes which _really _were the same old shade of brown, but may as well have always been that ghastly, blood-red hue? Worst of all, how could he look upon him and feign decency after what he was going through?

Scar looked away shamefully, though it did not stop him from catching his words. Alas, he knew his brother well enough… having hit the nail on the head, the golden lion eyed him with his usual wary look. In the king's eyes, Scar and his compatriot—his "other" brother—were always such troublemakers, ready for some sort of mischievous or even potentially sabotaging act. But it was a big day, and there was no doubt much to organize. He could not presently afford to castigate his brother over mere suspicion, as there was no advantage in being pedantic over such minimal matters.

"… I need you to patrol the northern borders." He spoke slowly, studying the nervous and clearly distressed leonine form opposite of him with a furrowed brow. "… Be sure to mark it well—those pesky brutes have been getting bold as of late."

Scar tried to hide his grimace. His reference to pesky brutes was no doubt a mention of hyenas. They must have been a little too careless in approaching the borders… and after he'd warned them, too.

He had to leave, to escape from there. With an absent grunt of acknowledgement, he left his distracted brother alone and made his way to patrol the boundaries of their decaying kingdom. Perhaps the fresh air would help him. Perhaps moving around on his feet and examining the open landscape would ease him somewhat.

But, of course, it didn't. How could he find any solace in a dry, sun-beaten landscape, where the glimmering orb was always omnipresent, and its cast rays contrasted with the dull, dreary blue-grey of the previously cerulean sky? He couldn't, that was how. If anything, the fact that he had patrolled the borders _so many times_, to the extent that he and his brother had actually worn a visible trail of pawprints into the barren soil, meant that he could more or less tune out of where he walking to, leaving his mind to wander on its own course and follow its own thoughts. Besides, it wasn't like any _genuine _attackers were bound to be after their slowly-desiccating territory.

In addition, the hyenas were actually quite lazy for being so professionally dangerous: he wasn't supposed to meet them by the border until noontime zenith. That, of course, was actually extremely inconvenient because it was only a little after dawn at the present moment. He would be back at Pride Rock well before the appointed hour, and would need to find a suitable pretext for leaving yet another time to "spot" the intruders and warn Mufasa of them.

Alas, the timing was delicate, and it set his teeth on edge. But then a thought hit him. One that was actually quite odd to think about.

If everything went perfectly—as in, he could possess certitude that his plan had been executed to the letter and without a single flaw—then he would not have to deal with Mufasa anymore. This would be the last day he would be troubled with his ever-looming presence, and it would be the day that the final remainder of his oppressors would fall to the ground in defeat.

A part of him wished he could have been free of it long ago. But for all that time he'd simply accepted his fate. It wasn't until later that he'd questioned it, and even later that he'd taken action. Indeed, in some ways, he was still uncertain about the last part, as it was simply unheard of to do so in such a radical manner. He was taking his fate into his own hands, but then… what if he wasn't supposed to? What if things were the way they were for a reason? He was rising up against the king, his elder brother… it was against the natural order. Something akin to heresy, perhaps even blasphemy. For Mufasa may have been a bad king in the eyes of most, but that did not make him any less of a king. His mere position was enough for him to have plenty of supporters. For he had, inevitably, been given the right to rule from the great Creator himself. It was his divine right, and it would be pure, rash hubris to even deign to go up against that.

He remembered what his mother told him. That they got what they deserved—surely, the land drying up and the position of Mufasa as ruler must have meant something. Perhaps one among them was disobedient, or unworthy. Perhaps it was even himself… _perhaps_ they were right all along.

Now that was strange to think about. Everything he was doing, everything he was planning, went against everything that lion-kind stood for. It was against their will, against the will of the spirits. They would never forgive him for such a derisive offence. And why should they?

Unless, of course, it was meant to be all along. Maybe they had been good, maybe he was an object—a tool—of change. He was a prince… did that mean he was meant to be the next ruler of the Pridelands? What if it was fated to happen all along: how much of this would be his fault? How guilty would he be, and how hard would it be for him to wash his paws, provided that was possible at all?

He could almost see himself on top of Pride Rock, free of the burdens slung across his shoulders and pressed against his bony scapulae. The faintest tendrils of long-suppressed feelings—perhaps greed or simply jealousy—assailed him unexpectedly, manifesting themselves as envious pricks in his chest, as a burning in his glowing green eyes. Had he seen himself, he would have known he was desperate… for he knew he had developed appetite in more than one way. On the one side, he saw a future that was significantly better than his current, pitiful existence. And on the other, he knew that he was assailing a sacred feast, sanctimoniously dirtying with his grubby paws something that was not his to touch.

Even in the current dearth of food, even in the deadly famine that had worn away at his flesh and gnawed consistently at his famished insides, the fact that there would be plenty to eat that night was a certainty. The Day of Thanks was a festivity which had been around as long as they could remember, having happened for many, _many _years in succession. Alas, it was, perhaps, their oldest holiday… and no matter how hard and trying times were, they always managed to scrape together enough for them all to eat on that night. Mufasa even seemed inherently bent on continuing the tradition, whereupon the lionesses would find a herd of beasts and run them off the side of the sacred gorge. Those of them that lived were allowed to go free—demonstrating the lions' magnanimous mercy—and the dead were feasted upon. Once the lions had eaten their fill, the rest were distributed among the other predators of the land in a spirit of brotherhood. The leopards, the wild dogs, the vultures, the cheetahs, the foxes… even the hyenas were, albeit begrudgingly, allowed to take their share of the feast, even though every time the two species met was accented with mutual hostility.

Indeed, his protruding ribs were practically begging him not to interfere for the sake of the meal that was sure to come, and his empty stomach whole-heartedly agreed. To infringe on something so sacred was an outrage in itself, yet it was the most convenient opportunity due to the busyness of the day and the danger of the stampeding herd: huntresses had met their demise in the annual hunt more than once. It would be a relatively blameless affair to have the hyenas steal the herd from the lionesses, presumably at random and out of jealously or revenge, and then...

The deed would be done.

In either case, he could not stop… for on the flip side, if he did not kill Mufasa, he saw something far worse than he wanted to see.

If he failed, he would doubtlessly be ripped apart by the hyenas if they found him—that in itself brought back disturbing memories of similarly devoured, live victims. Yet even more dreadful than that was the gruesome image which suddenly decided to burn itself in the back of his brain… the results of what would happen if Mufasa lived through the attempt on his life. Clearly he could see his own body, clawed open down the middle and gutted, lying limply across the ground under the scorching sun. No vultures came, and no one came to take away his corpse… for none dared to touch the bloody remains of a traitor and the victim of a royal execution. And even farther away from there, completely severed from the rest, his head would be gibbeted, permanently frozen in its place to instill fear into whoever laid eyes upon the display.

He had to be constant, and resolute. There was no room for failure anymore.

"Uncle Scar, wait up!"

The lion jumped slightly, fur bristling, as though caught guilty in some insidious act. Yet as he looked behind him, all he could see was Simba bounding up to him jubilantly.

"Can I come with you? I want to see the borders so I can learn how to defend them from any vicious intruders!"

Again, it was another verbatim repetition of a dogma he knew all too well. He gazed upon the golden cub, pondering what to say and whether or not to decline. Yet in some odd, uncanny way, he supposed he owed him this much—he didn't see much harm in bringing him along. If anything, he wanted Simba as far as possible from what was sure to ensue at the gorge. And if he was with him, that would burn some time… and prevent any sort of disasters from happening.

_Besides, if he's really so interested in this god-forbidden wasteland of a border, then he can _see _it._

"… Alright. You'll have to keep up with me, though."

Not like that would really be a problem: he didn't plan on moving that quickly or arriving home so soon. If anything, it was he that would have to keep up with the cub, not the other way around.

"Thanks, Uncle Scar! This'll be great!"

Honestly, sometimes he was surprised with how much energy the little cub had. It was scarcely past dawn, yet he was not only awake but also full of vivaciousness and enthusiasm. He was burdening himself with something which was not yet his to take on—he thought himself so large and impregnable, yet to what extent was that actually true? Mufasa only encouraged it… indeed, in a way, Scar wished that Simba would simply be treated as a cub, not some sort of soldier.

But alas, that was a river to be crossed another day.

"Yes, I look forward to our little sojourn. So, how is Nala doing? Better, I trust, hmm?" he instigated a conversation idly, hoping it would ease at least some of his tension.

"She's still asleep with Sarafina and her uncle Hamu." The lion cub trotted excitedly, small clouds of dust forming and floating through the air after his footfalls.

"Well, that's… good." He pondered aloud, wondering just how long it would be before Hamu, too, was sent out to make preparations. Alas, it wasn't fitting for a lion to hunt alongside the huntresses in most cases, but Mufasa didn't seem all that concerned about making the younger lion suffer through the indignities pressed upon him.

"Uncle Scar, I've gotta question."

"Mmmm?" he grunted absently.

"Wanna play?"

There it was again—that ineffable smile. To most it would have been simply irresistible, though Scar's mind was unusually aloof as he cast an awkward glance towards the raw flesh on his arm: the results of the last time Simba decided to "play".

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Uncle Scar. We can practice for when the trespassers come!"

"Yes, because the absolute _deluge _of them warrants such a response…"

"Deluge? What's that? Is that another Uncle Scar-ism?"

"If you want to think of it that way," he paused his sluggish gait and stretched, several joints popping as he flexed his claws in the dirt and hollowed out his back, "but no, playing is not an option. I'm simply too old for such a thing."

"… Aw, come on. You're not _that _old."

Simba frowned, though it was obvious he was doubtful about that. For one thing, he always noted that his Uncle Scar had a rather… _odd… _way of walking. While his father always looked confident and strong, with a long stride and royal carriage, the younger prince and brother distinctly lacked his pride and enthusiasm. His paws trod along slowly and purposefully, as though walking above a certain speed would cause him to keel over. His spine formed a distinct and rather profound curve in his back, with his shaggy coat sagging off of it. And while Mufasa always walked with his head held high, Scar walked with his neck stretched out in front of him, his chin pointed at an almost forty-five degree angle between his chest and his nape. It was as though he was studying the rocks and pebbles before he tread over them.

The young cub always wondered why his uncle walked like that, but today especially his slow and dithering way of moving was especially profound. He looked dejected, and distracted.

Like he needed cheering up.

He smiled, imagining how he would react… before suddenly and harshly smacking his elder in the arm with a paw. Scar reacted surprisingly quickly, drawing his head up from its usual place, though he didn't quite have time to express his confused and offended-looking expression with words.

"You're it! Bye!"

Simba was off like a shot, though his clear desire to have fun only made Scar even more tense and nervous. What if he wandered off before he could get to him? What if he did something foolish?

His first reaction was to go after him, though his rationality and phlegmatic nature bid him to stay back. He waited for a moment, hoping the cub would realize that he had no intention of being sucked into his little game during such a serious proceeding, and vainly anticipated the cub's return.

Nothing.

_What in the name of kings has gotten into him…?_

"Simba!"

He waited for a moment, though the only response was his own voice, which had somehow managed to echo despite the mostly flat landscape surrounding him. A bit of rare wind picked up, the dust irritating his eyes and making them water.

"Simba, _I do not find this amusing!_ Return at once!"

He groaned, his stiff limbs picking up a trot as he neared the crest of a small hill—or, at least, the closest thing to a hill that existed in their home. The dirt submitted to his feet and the brush parted as he waded through it, hoping to see the cub.

Scar scanned the terrain momentarily, his skill as a hunter and patroller coming into play as he searched for him. His reasoning was that he couldn't have gone far… and alas, he was right.

He found Simba. Normally that in itself would have been enough to calm him, except for the fact that the moment he had finally caught a sight of the cub was also the one in which a very large and very angry buffalo decided to charge straight in the terrified little lion's very direction.

* * *

_I kind of had half of this written in a word document for the longest time, so I apologize. Since Trampled readers got an update, I figured I'd give one to you all as well. ;) I feel rather good about this chapter, and it's only 12:45! That's about 3 hours earlier than usual! _

_Oh, and since I'm bored, one last thing. I'd like to play a little game with you all (it involves no kidnapping as is completely voluntary, I promise XD). Since I can't really give you anything, the winner only gets an honorable mention at the beginning of next chapter as well as (presumably) some sort of weird sense of accomplishment. You must be so proud._

_The winner is the first person to tell me what the following three words have in common:_

_pandemonium, __menstruation, __education_

_Yep, that's it. Don't think too hard over it - since I suck at riddles, I reckon it'll be pretty easy to anyone who can read. XD_

_Twin _


	5. Arrows and Olive Branches

**_A/N:_**

_Hey there everyone. I'm back again, with good old Chapter 5. 5. Hmmm, the first milestone I guess. Well, second, considering I broke 10,000 words last chapter. _

**_Well, today is the day of the stampede, but it just wasn't as exciting as I'd thought... you talked a bit too much._**

_Alright, well, granted, I DID talk a bit overly much and such, but to be honest, you haven't even seen 'exciting' yet. ;p I promise. The seat glue will be pasted on your chairs soon enough. XD_

**_Do you like Pokémon? _**

_Snappy, always with the random questions! XD Although I suppose since your latest fic is from there, it isn't all that random. I took a look at it and will follow it, but no, I'm not familiar with that fandom other than from SSBB and SSBM. lol_

**_Dude, isn't Hamu from, like, A Murderer's Miracle?_**

_Alright, TTJ, I know you're scratching your head on this one, but 1) I'm only borrowing the name, not little Hamu himself. Well, unless you want to think of him as a parallel to your Hamu, but again, he isn't supposed to be. XD Hamu (translated here as "eager") was just a name I picked for him early on that I got used to and never changed. And since 99% of the OCs on here simply get names from a pool of English words run through Google Translate, similarities between them are bound to happen. And 2) you know I'm a fan of AMM and I'm not out to steal any of your characters. :p_

**_OH MY GOODNESS! [insert random thing here] IS ALSO FROM TRAMPLED!_**

_Yeah, some of you who are over here have read Trampled as well and may notice some similarities. I want to keep the two stories in seperate AU worlds and want them to kind of do their own thing, but they will both have common points as dictated by an external, overarching set of continuities - my own sort of universe within TLK (dubbed the "Twinverse" by **IronicSnap**, of course! XD) In particular, I'm trying to delve deeper into the lions' personalities and habits and culture and surroundings and etc, and that will largely be consistent with other stories and chapters to come._

_Oh, and **IronicSnap **was also the first person to solvce the riddle last chapter! All three words have the five vowels in them, and there are certainly many others in the English language that do so. Try to see how many 5-vowel words you can find in this next chapter. ;)_

* * *

"_SIMBA!"_

He screamed the name, everything blurred and fuzzy around him. Pulse pounding in his ears, heart hammering in his chest… it had been a long time since he'd experienced anything like this. It was silly, and there was no chance of him arriving to the cub's aid in time. Yet he still raced, calling out as loud as his lungs would allow.

"_SIMBA!"_

The cub looked up for the briefest of instances—that much he could see out of the corner of his eye. It was a mixture of shock and a look of terror, as though he really, truly had no idea as to what was happening. He was standing by a patch of tawny grass, mouth agape as the creature thundered closer, horns down and a mad bellow coming from its throat. Closer and closer the thundering hooves sounded…

"_Move, boy! Get out of the way!"_

Simba finally shook himself, the reality and gravity of the situation finally registering with him. He sidestepped with a nimbleness that surprised Scar, though his look of fear still impinged on his reflexes and starkly contrasted with his usual calm expression. Everything swirled and shook and rumbled, as though the world was being split apart and ravaged by a wild earthquake. The buffalo tried to turn and approach the cub, though it was moving far too fast to even attempt to make such a quick maneuver. The creature instead stopped as quickly as it could, kicking and lowing in an attempt to blow off some steam, before turning and snorting with a look of wild, rabid ferocity.

It was just enough time for Scar, who was still flying full speed towards them. He leapt in front of Simba and skidded to a halt between the cub and the buffalo, his stance wide and his claws picking at the ground as he unleashed a throaty, defensive snarl. It was just him, a scrawny and wiry lion… facing off against a living, breathing bulldozer.

Simba took a step back, surprised at how his uncle was reacting. Normally he was so passive, so… calm. He'd never quite seen this side of him, never quite witnessed the dirty fur bristle or the jaded, jade eyes fill with fire. It was intimidating, and all he could do was stand with confusion as those sharp, cloven hooves pounded the ground with all the force a ton or so of flesh could muster and as the deadly horns headed straight towards the older lion's chest, hoping to inflict some serious damage on the surprised lion.

Scar jumped to the side, before rapidly turning around and sending Simba a growl which clearly directed him to do the same. The cub nodded, jaws still wrested apart in surprise, and leapt out of the way before retreating up the hill. Scar followed him a little ways, expecting the buffalo to give chase and believing that he would need to move between the cub and his opponent. Yet he was surprised to find that the buffalo was now seemingly disinterested with the little prince, now charging full force at the dark lion instead.

Scar changed tactics, now running away from Simba to draw the danger out of the golden cub's vicinity. He darted in front of the buffalo, relying on his lithe frame and agility to speed away and tire the beast down… yet he wasn't quite fast enough. With a surprising burst of energy the creature charged and tossed its head violently, just catching the lion with its deadly horns.

It wasn't enough to incapacitate the lion, though he still couldn't hold back a cry of pain as the sharp implement pierced deeply into his soft flank, the curved horn ripping easily through the skin and cutting upwards through the flesh beneath it. A spurt of dark blood showered out as the animal followed through, the horn finally pulling away and leaving a rough, open gash, the entire impact overall affecting the lion's balance and sending him tumbling to the ground. Only his momentum kept him shooting away from the buffalo and allotted him a few moments of rest as his attacker rampaged along his path, gradually turning full circle and charging straight back around.

It could have been a lot worse. Had the animal attacked quicker and more zealously, cutting across his belly rather than just his flank, the impact would have doubtlessly gutted him, and Simba would have been left afraid and defenseless, and probably utterly scarred, for the remainder of his little life.

The lion gritted his teeth and flexed his ample set of lean muscles, hurt but unfazed. Everything blurred with the effects of the adrenaline which was no doubt swirling through his blood, his body sweating from heat and exertion as his vision narrowed on his target. He focused, his entire self growing warm and his heart still pounding inside of him. His fresh wound was crimson with the hot, sanguine fluid dribbling across the creamy fur of his underbelly, which was clumping and thick with sweat and dust. Staggering to his feet, he growled resiliently, not ready to give up just yet.

Again the charge came, though this time he ran directly towards it, not paying any mind to the wild sounds and the rampaging swinging of the torrential horns and hooves. He turned at the last moment, and then leapt back towards the tempest, his paws seeking the creature's neck. It instantly struggled and tossed its head about, though he quickly clamped on, his arms embracing the muscular part and his claws scrapping down the sides, drawing red lines across the creature's hide.

He closed his eyes, focusing on nothing but holding on as the buffalo bucked and kicked out violently. His claws dug in deeper and deeper as he tried to retain his grip, yet, to the surprise of Simba, he didn't bite down—he only turned his head away and gritted his teeth, hoping that the weight of the creature would not suddenly come down on top of him and that he would not be sucked into the deadly storm of horrible hooves pounding below.

He simply had to hold on, to hold on… to not let the claws slip from their place, not let them grate down the tough hide…

The lion grunted, one of his paws scratching and slipping off. He held on with his other paw, which was clenched and tight in its hold on the animal's skin, trying to readjust his grip. But the animal sensed his brief, awkward struggling, his sudden lack of composure and moment of brief helplessness. With one massive jump, it swung its head, the lion suddenly losing his hold and flipping head over heels away from the fray. He sailed through the air for a good second before landing as a sprawled heap in a patch of grass nearby, his arms scraped up from the impact. With a groan, he tried to find his footing…

But he couldn't move.

Hooves thundered. The colossus charged closer. Another jerk of his limbs, only to find that his right forepaw had been caught into some sort of muddy, collapsed meerkat hole.

He looked back to the massive creature tumbling closer, though in truth he shouldn't have. Suddenly he was paralyzed, not even trying to move anymore. His eyes widened, tail briefly curving in between his legs in shock and submission. This was it. He was supposed to die after all.

"STOP!"

Scar's head jerked back, his will to resist piqued again as he half expected to see a defiant, overconfident Simba bristling and snarling at the creature. Yet what he saw was, instead, a wobbly buffalo calf, standing there and seeming appalled at what was going to happen.

The buffalo stopped in its tracks, fury still burning in its eyes as it stomped and kicked and snorted. Yet it didn't trample Scar senselessly into oblivion, and the lion was just able to twist his paw and pull it out of the tight trap it had been caught in before he stood up, still shaking.

His breathing was heavy, his ears flattened and his head in its usual position, as though ashamed. It was like he hadn't even noticed the danger of the lumbering beast until he'd stopped fighting, hadn't realized how brash he'd acted until they'd reached the sweaty, reeking aftermath. He stood there, so bent and small beneath the figure of the rampaging beast before him, his face drained of its usual sanguine tint. For several moments all was silent, the lion standing wide-eyed and bristling in fright as the animal stood there, snorting and frozen in an expression of ebbing rage.

"_Thank the ancestors,_" he whispered softly, still catching his breath, before a much more stern countenance appeared on his face. Simba, who was hiding instinctively and watching from the brush nearby, backed up, half expecting a fight.

"You dare to attack a prince?" He turned on the large animal suddenly, an odd note of boldness piercing through his normally dark, passive tone. His teeth were bared with the hint of a growl, the fuzzy form of the young buffalo retreating behind its protector's foreleg.

"That yellow ball of fur is no prince," the buffalo—a male—spoke for the first time, his voice a hearty and intimidating bellow, "_especially_ when he has the nerve to attack _my_ calf. As far as I am concerned, he is but an ant, and were I to have my way, I'd let you both feel the wrath of my hooves!" He stamped threateningly towards Scar, who sidestepped reflexively but kept his resolve as he showed his sharp incisors.

"_Keep your head!" _he shouted, the vestiges of a roar beginning to appear in his harsh, defensive tone._ "_No one was _attacking_ anyone until you nearly pulverized that cub. If _I _were to have _my _way, I'd let the king punish you and hang your hides from the top of Pride Rock, do you understand?"

The sting of his words penetrated the dry, heavy air, yet the aggressive male only tossed his horns, seemingly about ready to pound the impetuous lion into oblivion. His calf, however, was more frightened, bleating in terror as he again pressed himself against his father's leg.

"I-It was an accident. He didn't mean to hurt me, Father, I swea—"

"_Silence!"_

"But Father—"

"I told you to keep quiet! I don't want any of these _cats_ to hurt you!" He snorted and looked enraged for a few moments longer, though his tone and countenance quickly softened. "You wouldn't tell the king, would you?"

Scar pressed his lips together, studying them coldly. He noticed, not without some sense of embarrassment, that the calf did have several scratch marks running parallel to its thigh. Probably an accident, but of course, how was he to know that? Protecting progeny, defending descendents… it came naturally.

He'd done so himself.

"_Simba!" _he called, enticing the cub from his hiding spot. "Simba, come here!"

The cub sulked over quietly, his body language displaying more humility than was average for him. He clearly looked down, his enthusiasm significantly lessened as his paws softly made tracks in the dusty crust of earth, which was punctuated with stubbly stalks of vegetation. One small paw after one small paw…

"Yeah?"

"Did you mean to hurt this animal's son?"

"No," he shot back quickly, though with complete and honest sincerity, "no, honest, I didn't mean it. I just kinda tripped in the brush and he was in there. I didn't want to _hurt_ him…" he trailed off absently, before eying the buffalo and muttering a few words of apology: "I'm sorry, Mr. Buffalo. I didn't want to, I promise."

Scar took a long, deep sigh, as one would do with a disappointing child. For several moments he looked between his nephew and the buffalo, both parties having calmed down significantly. Finally, he spoke up in a calm tone, addressing the colossus opposite him.

"I see this was a mistake. However, do be more careful in the future. Were I Mufasa, I do not believe this would have ended well for any involved." He flicked his tail keenly, signaling for Simba to wheel around and follow closely behind him as he departed. "May Mwumbaji be with you, _bruda_."

"… Mwumbaji b'with you," he muttered absently, his twitching ear being the only sign of movement from his otherwise still, frozen form. He did nothing, not deigning to follow the reclusive lion as he moved farther and farther away, down towards the border to continue patrolling, to continue with the weary task he had been assigned to.

Eventually the lion stopped, and when they were out of earshot of their accidental acquaintances, Simba approached him, as curious as ever.

"Uncle Scar?" The inflection in his voice was bubbly and somewhat inquisitive, clearly not discouraged by the fact that his uncle was now in a recumbent position and had stopped to catch his breath and lick his wounds, which had already dirtied his side with blood.

"Uncle Scar, what were you doing? Why didn't you try to kill that buffalo? Why did you let him go? Dad would've—"

"_Simba_, let me teach you one basic rule about governing," he relaxed on his side a moment longer, withdrawing his long, unfurled tongue, "and that is that a being is innocent until he is proven otherwise. Each animal must be given a fair chance to plead his case, not executed on a whim. We lions are not heathens, and all of us are equal before Mwumbaji. We must not upset the balance, anger our ancestors and our creator…"

"But Uncle Scar," the cub trotted behind his dark uncle, who had arisen and begun to walk away, studying the sun which shone brightly across his sharp visage, "Dad said that we were created as lions for a reason, that the spirits approved of us as rulers and we were meant to be above the other creatures."

"Ah, but you see, Simba…" he chuckled darkly, dismayed at how far the sun had traveled in such a seemingly short amount of time. Perhaps his plan was not meant to come to fruition after all, perhaps they did truly approve of this little cub's father as a despot… "that only lasts in life. In spirit, we are equal in power and form. That is why it is our duty now to tend to the creatures that look up to us, to provide for them and promote peace in the kingdom. In the end, we will receive what we gave out, and there was no need for such unnecessary violence."

He sighed, dearly hoping that what his mother told him was true. 'The Circle of Life', as she had termed it—a dogma which supposedly stemmed from the vast deserts to the east but didn't find much favor west. Mufasa didn't seem to lend any credulity to it: some of the other animals clung to it, of course, but the lions claimed it was their right to rule, that the kingship was inviolable and sacred and that everyone should know their place in a single rigid system and never question anything. That was how their world worked. He never voiced his contrarian views to his brother, of course, as that would be tantamount to blasphemy… but he held them nonetheless. Maybe Simba would understand them. If he isolated him, kept him away from Mufasa until the opportune time, then maybe…

"But Uncle Scar, I thought… I was told…" the cub appeared truly flustered, his brow furrowing in a vague attempt at contemplating and ruminating over what he had just said. But he didn't have time to explain it. Not today. He had to take Simba home and keep him away from Mufasa and the gorge, then move to the far northern border and consolidate his final plan with the hyenas, then inconspicuously return back and pretend to warn his brother about the chaos in the gorge. And he still had to patrol the rest of the borders, exhausted and wounded though he was…

Or maybe not. He realized he had a choice ahead of him: to waste valuable time marking and scoping out a borderline which was already deserted, ill-defined, and unlikely to produce any threat, or to take Simba back to Pride Rock and make sure he was safe before the huntresses left, with some time to nurse his wounds and find a suitable exit while Mufasa was preoccupied with setting up the hunt.

He pondered it for a moment, weighed the two choices in a split-second decision which he simply knew would have consequences later. To what magnitude, however, he was not sure—nor had he taken into account all the possible unexpected happenings. There simply wasn't enough time to think it through completely. He had two choices.

And he chose wrong.

"Come, Simba," he beckoned to the cub softly, "I'm sure your _Bibi _and Uncle Hamu will be able to answer _all _of your questions."

Slowly, the two of them withdrew from their little sojourn, the cub's interest being drawn elsewhere as his uncle led him away from the boundaries he was assigned to protect, back towards the relatively safe home which all of them knew.

But the blame would fall on his shoulders soon.

* * *

Well, you all get to meet Hamu next chapter! But as for Scar's plan, well, I can't assure you that it will go as planned. :/

Swahili words:

"bruda" - brother, "bibi" - grandmother, "Mwumbaji" - creator/God, "Hamu" - eager.

You'll perhaps notice that I'm setting up some themes for later in the story... in particular, the lion's belief system is based off of real-life historical syncretic blends fashioned between Christianity and indigenous African beliefs after the arrival of Europeans in Africa (hey, I took AP World History, alright? Of course I'm going to do that XD). So they believe in a monotheistic creator God/deity, but they also have some elements of traditional African beliefs such as shamanism (the shaman being Rafiki, of course), ancestor veneration (Great Kings of the Past), and belief in good/evil spirits.

I bet you never thought reading a Lion King fanfic would be so educational. XD But the creators of TLK clearly developed their visual landscape/score/characters to reflect an African theme, so this isn't far out there. I'm just extending canon where it probably wouldn't have tread, is all.

Oh, and my birthday's a month from now, but I probably won't have a chapter up before then. :/ So, since I'm in the mood to be amused, I won't tell you how old I'm turning and will instead let you guess. If you already know, don't say anything. XD This should be fun.

'Til next time!

- Twin :)


	6. Inquiry and Iniquity

_**A/N:**_

_Hey there, I'm back. ^^ As predicted, though I worked on it a lot, I was unable to get another chapter out before my birthday. (I turned 15, although I'm sure most of you already know that... probably). I've been working on this for a while. Hit a bit of a bump, but I wanted to get this out today so I wrapped it up as well as I could. _

_I'm also happy to say that this chapter is longer than the others. If you like my writing or are a quick reader, you will presumably share in my happiness, though if you're slow at reading like I am... then have a happy next hour. (Just kidding... hopefully XD)_

_Hamu means eager. In case I didn't say that before. lol_

**Are you getting anything TLK-related for your birthday, or with birthday money afterwards?**

_Well, I don't know. I can't think of a whole lot I'd want to buy, seeing as how they never released any TLK games on any systems I have and I quite a few plushies already... hmmm, maybe I'll get a plushie. I got some money from my family and am thinking of pooling it together until I can find something appealing to spend it on... I can be very... er... conservative whenever I get any cash. XD I already did some (not-expensive things) for my birthday like going on a hike and not going to school for about the thousandth time this year. x.x Got a cake too! Maybe I'll eat some now..._

**Do you like video games?**

_Psssh, yeah. XD That was my childhood apart from playing with stuffed animals and coming up with stories. (I still do the last of these three, obviously, or you wouldn't be here reading this). I just did it for fun - a lot of popular games were on Xbox and whatnot. But I loved the Sonic the Hedgehog games and I had a lot of movie-based games. lol Plus SSBM and SSBB, the former of which I got in fifth grade and played until I unlocked every map, every character, every trophy, beat all 51 events, and could beat the hardest computer in a one-on-one fight. XD (Yeah, I got really good at it.)_

_I don't play them much anymore, however. I just got SSBB last June for a birthday present (a few years after it was released, I think) and, even though it's one of the few Wii games I play, it's gathering dust. I beat Adventure mode on Normal but I probably don't have half the maps, characters, or trophies unlocked yet, and I'm only at event 19 or something. Mostly I just feel bad if I have free time and I'm not writing or doing something productive._

_You're welcome. XD_

* * *

Scar stood quietly at the base of Pride Rock, his limbs buckling and twitching in impatience as the increasing light of the sun beat down on him from above. Already it was becoming hot out, his fur bristling and clumping with sweat as he was accustomed to. Everything felt so unbearably heated, so overwhelmingly dry… and his unkempt coat did nothing but add to his misery as his scant flesh and tanned hide were preparing to be cooked under the zenith of the golden globe—it was going to be a long day.

"_Hamu! …Brother!_" he paused for a moment, waiting for a response which was unusually slow, considering his quarry. "Hamu!"

"_Spirits curse me_," he seethed quietly, his tension augmenting as he realized, dismayed, that he must have left already. The hunt must have been underway—there were no lionesses in sight, and the aura of Pride Rock had already taken on a deathly, quiet tone. Already he was too late…

"Scar?"

Or maybe not…?

"Scar, make this fast. I may need to head out soon."

The lion, Hamu, Scar's so-called brother, descended from the walkway outside one of the dark domiciles naturally carved out of the side of the cave by erosion. By the heat of the dry season and the wind and the long-ago rains which used to pound the land this time of the year instead of showing up sporadically and dropping next to nothing. Alas, the weather was next to unbearable, even to those who had been used to the dry season's wrath—it had simply gone on for too long. Hamu's coat, which was already a sandy, pale color, was mostly bleached and staunched of its color, almost as though the sun had sucked his fur dry of its pigment just as it had with the water. It had taken his fur's almost-golden hue to add onto its own miserable brilliance.

Yet down he walked, smoothly and softly, barely making a sound… as was his habit. His muscled limbs worked perfectly, and everything about him seemed surprisingly healthy and in tune. The look about him was eager and prepared, as compared to the look of his meager and emaciated brother who struggled to get enough to eat.

Or his 'brother', as it should be said. For even the untrained eye could tell that there was no blood relation between them—alas, sometimes foreigners and even diplomats from the other prides thought princely, light-furred Hamu was the king's brother, and Scar a mere, dirty commoner, considering their looks and how they acted. There was simply too much contrast between Scar's slick black mane and sleek brown fur against the light, pale coat and the soft, billowing brown of Hamu's mane. Only the eyes were similar, with the glinting, gleaming gems in Scar's eyes roughly congruous to his adoptive siblings'… his sibling who seemed to contain a whole, dappled jungle within the leafy lake of his irises.

"What's happened? Why's _he_ with you?" he nodded towards Simba, who was playing just a short distance away with some of the small, fun-sized boulders lining the bottom edge of the great, hulking mass of Pride Rock. He seemed content with looking around into the cracks and crevices, at least until a brilliant, blue butterfly emerged from its hiding place among the stone…

"I need someone to watch him. I need to… leave somewhere." He glanced over his shoulder at the cub cryptically. "Where's Mother? Isn't she going on the hunt this year?"

"No…" he trailed off, his attention still caught by the cub, who was leaping at his quarry and yowling with no concealed amount of excitement, and perhaps a bit of frustration. "She's not feeling so well again. Perhaps a bout of choler. You know how sickly she's getting, and babysitting Simba would be…"

"… too stressful for her…" Scar finished, watching as the cub finally clapped his paws together around the delicate butterfly. He pulled them apart, expecting to find the beautiful creature, but instead was greeted by its crushed form sticking to one of his pads. He growled in dismay.

Both Hamu and Scar were studying him distantly, as though he were some odd and exotic creature from the realm of the forests instead of their nephew. Finally Hamu caught himself, and calmly interjected as a way of continuing the conversation on a different path: "… why can't you watch him? Mufasa fancied showing him the hunt—"

"No. No, not Mufasa. You have to keep him away from Mufasa. Listen, I'll be back soon. If you must… let one of the others take him. Just for a while. Do you know if the huntresses left yet?"

"Not sure, slow down a minute." He lashed his tail like a whip. "Now why are we keeping him away from Mufasa?"

"Listen, just listen to me! We don't have much time…"

"That much is obvious. But… weren't you supposed to be somewhere? I was quite sure that—_my stars_, what happened to you?!" he uncharacteristically interjected, the deep, red wound on Scar's side briefly drawing his attention away. He looked back at the dark lion and remained silent, waiting for an explanation.

"Listen, yes, I know. You have a lot of questions, but please bear with me, it's a long story and I cannot tell you everything." He breathed anxiously, hoping he wouldn't be too angered. Hoping that the closest one to him wouldn't rebuke him for being so enigmatic this morning. "I can't tell you."

"Why in hell not?" he jumped in, eyes narrowed suspiciously, confused with the mixed and jumbled messages Scar was sending. "Have I proven myself untrustworthy to you?"

It was a sincere question. He knew it, for to him, and to everyone else, Hamu was always so strikingly sincere. Sometimes blunt towards his faux-sibling, but on the whole very dignified. He couldn't help but look at the lean set of muscles, the pale and perfect coat with a sense of envy. Not even the weather and the lack of food and the sense of hopelessness had taxed him. He caught him with those eyes, those sparkling eyes which were reminiscent of deep jungles, of green pools and gentle rivulets deep in the forest…

"No. No, I trust you… but it's not you I'm worried about. Just take him, and I'll come back later. You can leave him with one of the huntresses—just make sure Mufasa _does not take him to the gorge_."

Hamu finally relented. Scar was a prince by blood, after all, and that was something that could not be denied or revoked, no matter how much the pride ostracized him. For Hamu, no matter how he acted or how closely he and Scar associated, was not of royal blood himself. Scar was his superior.

"Alright, I'll have him accompany me as long as I can, but if Mufasa comes and asks…" he trailed off, knowing the king's word was law, "… well, I can't make you any promises then. I'll ask Sara before the hunt begins if she can look after him until your return."

Scar's eyes studied him for a while, knowing that this was very precarious, for if Simba was anywhere near that gorge… well, it would have been dangerous. But alas, this whole plan was dangerous. He was about to get Simba and tell him to stay with the pale lion, but suddenly he remembered, with some sense of half-curiousness, one last detail…

"Before the hunt begins?" He looked intensely at Hamu, who had been staring at his paws absently. "Before the hunt?" he repeated. "Where… where are they now?"

"Haven't a clue. Mufasa told me to walk on with them to the gorge, and then suddenly there was a _ruckus_. All the lionesses left some five minutes ago. Naturally my inclination was to follow suit, but the king told me to stay here and keep vigil on Pride Rock."

"Do you do everything Mufasa tells you to?" he queried irritably, looking at the lion with some distant, pent-up sense of frustration. Hamu's eyes narrowed, for this was a very sore subject. His tail lashed like a whip again.

"Of course, it's my duty. He's the king for a reason. I must obey him, or I'm liable to be a traitor and an anarchist." He looked sternly at Scar, a befuddled expression on his face. He wasn't saying so due to Mufasa's dogmas—no. It was his belief, and in this Scar and Hamu clashed bitterly.

"But what if he did something wrong? Would he be a king then? What if the balance was upset?"

"Then it is my job to stay and provide stability for the pride, for the pride is more important than oneself," he uttered in complete monotone, his expression bored. "Honestly, why do you beat this to death? It's silly. What would you have me do?"

He chuffed. "Not be a slave to immorality. Our duty to the spirits is greater than our duty to our leaders. Your mother taught me that, and yet you choose to take after the likes of my brother. You act like a Pridelander, through and through."

"Because _I am_. I was born here. I'm not a desert lion merely because I look like one." His tail lashed again… his pale tail with its light brown tuft which gave away his ancestry, his true origins…

"Fine, then. We can continue this another time," he dismissed their conversation, looking at the sun.

"I'd rather not. This is an old argument, Scar, and I'm tired of debating with you. I simply wish… that…" he trailed off, and suddenly he lurched forwards, his paws clasping around the younger lion's neck in an uncharacteristic show of affection as he sensed impending danger, a vague sense of urgency. "Be careful, brother."

"Alright," Scar said slowly, evenly… his pose was completely balanced and still as the other lion held him, his tone somewhat cold and distant. Normally Hamu wasn't a meddler, and he didn't feel quite so attached to other lions… but they'd been together for as long as either could remember.

Scar felt obligated not to bring him into this, not to let him down, yet it was true that he was… well, not a follower, but simply dogmatic in his own ways. He was the princely one, the one everyone loved for his detached courtesy, his ubiquitous air of dignity and grace, combined with his occasionally blunt honesty. Yet he knew his place well. His superiors he would obey to the letter, treat with respect… and even those who were below him in the hierarchy—of which there were few—he always also treated with respect, with that same detached courtesy. When he was around, they forgot their strict positions, their pecking order… and simply listened to him, admired him. He blurred the lines between the lions, made them more like brethren, like comrades… He was the upstanding citizen. He could lead, and he was the one who was always hearkened to and respected, with the exception of Mufasa.

The dark lion found it silly how Mufasa could be so heavy-handed, condemning the lion to the lowliest positions and giving him the dreariest tasks. He never gave him any shred of recognition, any little bit of attention. Scar knew it was because he saw him as a threat, though honestly, anyone could see that the lion possessed not the slightest shred of ambition. For even though he was strong, and astonishingly smart, he never had any thoughts about advancing his position. The spark of discontent, of a need for power… it had simply not been lighted in him, even after all this time.

He wondered how long that would last, for even lowly, down-trodden Prince Scar—who should have learned by now never to expect any significant betterment of his life—had been discontent. Yet as Hamu released him, and he looked into his eyes, he saw the same old energetic, altruistic gleam in those scoping forests…

* * *

_Curses…_

Scar prowled up on the ledges, the scoping rocks which eventually flattened and formed the northeastern border—the delicate bounds between the Pridelands and the so-called "Outer Lands" or, more colloquially, the Outlands. He batted at the ground irritably, and then leapt across a small ravine, seething under the late morning sun as he proceeded.

_That was such a waste of time. _

At least, it seemed like it was. The hyenas were eager and ready to go… perhaps more ready than he was. He simply reminded them of the plan, told them to walk along the gorge and stage a mock attack on the huntresses. They weren't to actually attack any of them: that was a point he had stressed several times, though with such hired paws as the hyenas, affairs were bound to degrade into blows rather quickly.

He finally reached a relatively flat plain: what had once been hills, but had now eroded away and withered down to mere mounds showing their lifeless, pallid hues as humps towards the horizon. Already he knew he needed to get back as quickly as possible, to find Hamu and Simba and then run to the gorge and make sure Mufasa was there as the hyenas unleashed their strike…

But then his senses pricked as his quarry's unusually heavy, trudging footfalls approached. Mufasa.

A part of him thought that perhaps it would be easier than planned to bring the golden lion to the gorge, that his work had been cut out for him, but in spite of that he immediately and fearfully knew that something was horribly, dreadfully wrong. Mufasa didn't normally take such pains to find him, and his footfalls were never quite that heavy or quite that brutal.

He turned rapidly, and just as quickly he realized that his worst fears were coming true. Something was amiss.

"_You!_" The golden lion called, teeth gritted in a growl as he approached him. His footsteps were heavier than ever, the anger clear in his expression… and Scar's fur bristled as he froze in terror, knowing that running was not quite an option. He would face that one stigma he feared the most: being bested under his brother's blunt and omnipotent wrath. Just how much… just how much did he know?

"You shameful, pandering, dung-sniffing, filthy, degenerate, pathetic _RAT!"_

He practically roared out that last syllable, marching towards him with no small degree of rage burned into the sharp, severe lines of his face. Scar instinctively sidestepped, but he knew that it was no use. If there was something he was upset about, he would make sure he _knew _it.

"Mufasa… Mufasa, let's calm down. Don't get too hasty, now."

"_SHUT UP!"_

Suddenly the dark lion's teeth were on edge, his words said out of desperation more than anything else. "Mufasa, think about this a moment," he backed up until he was pressed well against a nearby rock. "T-there's no need to do this to your poor little brother, is there? Please… please stop."

The younger lion's weak body was cast in shadow, his grimace nervous and the desire to evade his coming punishment written clearly into his glimmering eyes. His guts clenched in fear, frightened by his looming presence, his towering figure and his words which suggested that he knew something of all this. Of the plot so seemingly insidious, premeditated, depraved…

"What do you take me for, a _fool_? Mwumbaji damn me! I'd flay you right now if you weren't so pathetically _oblivious_ to everything that happens!"

"Mufasa," he pled weakly, "for spirit's sake, hold your tongue—"

"You hold yours!" Scar shuddered quietly in his place as Mufasa irritably paced, his dark tail curved wretchedly between his legs as he prepared to be dealt another round of harsh, irreverent verbal abuse. "I don't bend over backwards to feed your greedy little mouth so you can talk back! Now you tell me just what the meaning of all this is!"

"My… the… w-what? What do you mean?"

He looked around vaguely, confused out of his mind and horribly jarred by that fact. What did Mufasa mean, exactly? Why was he behaving so rabidly, so indiscriminately spiteful? What on earth… had gotten into him?

Yet his confusion did not convince, nor did it placate, the raving lion.

"You know perfectly well what I mean!" he rebutted. "Tell me what happened at the eastern border, and why a lioness is _dead _because of you!"

He inhaled sharply, that statement stinging deeply. Those words… they were the same ones which haunted him, day after day. The ones which had been pounded and branded and twisted into his mind by a horde of prodding, prying figures.

_Lioness. Dead. All because of you._

Inwardly, albeit unintentionally, he shook like a spurned, frightened cur. A weakling. An unfit coward who deserved not a scrap of their collective minds, cast out because of the impetuousness of what he'd done. It stuck in his mind, even now.

Yet this was something entirely different. Scar was understandably taken aback, now more confused and helpless to his brother's assaults than ever. It was obvious he was bringing up a new topic—neither his past nor his secret mutinies—and while that was a source of relief, it was also a source of helplessness. He… responsible for who's death, exactly? Why? When?

"Mufasa… I'm afraid I really, truly do not understand you."

"_Ass tripe!" _

The impatient Mufasa turned his argument physical, something which was bound to happen after only a few moments, and took a quick swing at him, allowing his curved and jagged claws to slide across his brother's body. His hide was rent as though it were mere paper, leaving unsightly and jagged red lines to run their course down his cheek and toward his jaw. Scar did nothing, knowing that he had no choice but to submit to his all-powerful brother lest he have to endure more grievous harm. He fell to the ground like an inanimate heap of flesh and lay there stiffly, not letting a sound escape his stark lattice of interlocked teeth. Barely a moan left his shriveled and dominated figure, and alas, the will to fight back had been all but snuffed out, leaving him to become merely an automaton of routine. He had suffered through this same bout many times before, which accounted for many of his features—not just his submissive personality, but also the half-faded scars crisscrossing his slumped figure.

"_Go on, get up!"_

He did so obediently and uneventfully, keeping his eyes averted and knowing full-well that he was the outlet. The object of his pain, his rage, his agony…

Mufasa backhanded him, a fierce growl splitting the air and his claws abrading off a portion of his wispy fur. He followed up with another blow. Another opportunity to score him to ribbons with his claws. He kicked him hard in the soft spot under his protruding ribs, allowing him a moment to cringe in pain, humiliated, before he threw him down into the dirt.

Scar felt every strike. He knew he needed to ignore it, though it was hard when he felt so disjointed, so hurt and stepped on. But this… this was the last day. The last day he would have to endure this, whether the outcome ended in his favor or not.

_Please, Mufasa, mother… father… have mercy. I know you hate me, but what have I done to displease you so? _

He held himself back, letting Mufasa batter him. In a way, he deserved it… even if the golden lion didn't know what would hit him. Yet a part of his spirit, detached, still hardened in resolution and contempt once again, for there was almost no strength left in him anymore. He lay for as long as he could on the ground, only to have those thick golden paws pick him up and press him to the wall.

The golden lion's wrath lasted for a few more painful moments, and then a terse silence followed.

"I'll find out." A horrible glint was burned into his eyes, again turning his chestnut irises that blood-red hue which was always conjured up by Scar's imagination. Everything about it—the sudden look in his features, the tone of his voice, was enough to make his sickly stomach lurch. "Spirits help me, I'll squeeze something out of you."

Scar tried to back away and slip out of his grasp, as though his brother were an anaconda instead of a lion. He tried to think of a reason why he would suddenly behave this way, tried to comfort himself by calling back to mind all the times when they'd behaved cordially, _almost _like distant acquaintances, but it was no use. He'd done far too much in his life for that—his brother treated him like a monster. There was no reconciliation, nothing to bring him into his favor. Nothing about their relationship was remotely rational, but alas, it was what it was.

Nevertheless, this time was exceptionally severe, for only a moment had passed since he'd felt the desire to escape and already Mufasa had had him in a headlock, his brawny arms wrapping around his neck while his golden limbs painfully, and with as much force as he could muster, squeezed his throat.

Even the dark lion, as weathered and used to this abuse as he was, could feel his eyes bug in shock as the king's golden forearm dug deeply into his windpipe. He stiffened and fought briefly, weakly… but he knew Mufasa was overpowering him. He was emotionally and physically capable of murdering him outright, and this time, he thought uneasily, surely he would do it. Surely. For there was no more reason to keep him alive.

"_Mufasa_," he croaked with bated breath, now afraid for his life, "_Mufasa, stop._"

No answer from his brother, who offered no recognition towards his pleas. Only more pressure.

"_Mufasa!_" he struggled to wheeze out his name, claws instinctively clutching at his oppressor's flesh and digging in as hard as he could before he realized, with absolute terror, that he wasn't letting go. "_Muf… Mufasa, st… st—gggtk!" _He panted quickly, pupils narrowing to mere dots. "_Sssss-STOP!"_

He wriggled about like a fish out of water, his attempts to breathe turning rapid and violent before they succumbed to a horrible gagging. Quickly, and with more zeal than before, he began to try to pull himself from his grasp, to escape, to pry himself from his arms. His movements were rigid, increasingly despondent as he twisted his lithe, emaciated body at angles it should not have been twisted at...

Finally his hind legs, which had been kicking out fervently, began to stiffen and lie still, his mouth frothing and his tongue beginning to unfurl itself as his mouth gaped in despair. His paws were still clenched, digging into his arm and drawing lines of blood across the sheet of hide in his grasp… yet his stony captor appeared impervious.

"_Ingrate," _Mufasa whispered distantly, eyes hazily transfixed on some distant object as his brother ceased moving. "_Don't even appreciate how Mother gave you life. Shameless _brother_._"

Scar paid no attention to his distant proselytizing, much more concerned with continuing his breathing. His tongue continued to loll out, the fringes turning blue and a warm trickle of blood gushing out his open mouth from somewhere inside. Mufasa no longer seemed angry, only distraught, and paid no more attention to his suffering brother than he would a plaything. His arm slowly slid up the length of the lion's throat, brushing past his mane until his limb was hooked just under his victim's jaw and his breath was tickling the inside of Scar's ear. A chill crept from the base of the dark figure's head to the tip of his tail, melting away as torrents of sweat began to glisten along his sagging, sway-backed spine.

"_Always taking the breath from others,_" he nestled his head against his chest, completely cutting off his air, "_see how it feels._" His voice grew eerily soft, something in his eyes betraying a slight twinge, though he still retained his note of anger as the edges of a tear dripped into his Scar's mane. "_See how it feels,_" he repeated, teeth gritting as he pressed down for a few more frustrated moments, his limb shaking with the effort. This Scar didn't notice, for alas, he was seeing how it felt. Hearing his heart pounding in his ears, blood throbbing, vision retreating and receding into darkness. He was near the edge, seemingly about to die of asphyxiation, when suddenly—without warning, and without impetus—Mufasa released him.

Instantly he fell to the ground, for his limbs had no strength to support himself anymore. A dull thud echoed from the ground, body being racked by a horrible cough even before he was greeted with a cloud of dust in his face. Blood continued to froth and saliva lightly misted his lips, the ground spattered with crimson under him as his paws struggled for footing.

He must have been hit harder than he thought.

His eyes narrowed, flashing with a glint which was rarely seen in them. There was no father there to protect the king. It was only the two of them. All this would be finished soon… it wasn't an excuse to hold his temper—no, it was an opportunity. He would make sure he knew just how he felt. For even to the end, Mufasa made sure the relationship between them was clear.

But no more.

Mufasa withdrew, glaring with a ferocity and venom whose words were furiously clear: _leave now, before I change my mind_. Alas, it would have been a simple affair… too bad Scar wasn't planning on taking his leave.

He lurched forward intensely, watching with an almost detached air as, for the first time in many, many years, his paw hit Mufasa back.

* * *

"Wow, look at that shade of gold… almost… almost like a victorious lion king, stretching in the sun after a long day of battling for his life against a horde of uncouth bandits."

"Hey Simba, what're you doing?"

"Oh?" The young cub perked his head up, only to see Nala bounding towards him. Her countenance bore a soft smile, body language suggesting she was pleasantly content… and why shouldn't she be? The Day of Thanks Feast was coming soon, and that alone was enough to make any cub happy. She apparently hadn't heard his distant, dream-like musings.

"Well…" Simba started, squirming sheepishly as he sometimes did around her. "I was looking at this butterfly I caught. It's beautiful."

"Oh, well…" she trailed off with a giggle, walking up only to find the insects quashed, splattered black body and barely-intact wings on the ground to greet her. "That's…" she paused for a long moment, face dropping as she tried to think of a suitable word. "Lovely."

"I know, you're right!" he turned around and beamed, not at a loss for enthusiasm. "It looks like the gleam of a golden lion's fur in battle as he trounces a weaker, dark-furred lion! Don't you think?"

"Uh… sure, Simba. If that's what you think. But _I _think it looks like a flower…"

"Well, you're a girl. Of course you think it looks like a flower. Lions are so much cooler and stronger than flowers, though—I could show you. I could cut up a thousand flowers for you if you wanted!"

She rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a youthful, burbling laugh which flowed from her core. Sometimes he could be so silly in his attempts to prove his youthful virility. Yes, lions were stronger than flowers, but that didn't mean she preferred one to the other.

"Don't cut them up!" she protested, "you'll kill them!"

"You're right, you're right," he apologized, though his face was still coy and sharp, "a lioness like you deserves a whole sweet, luscious flower to reflect her own… ripe, youthful beauty." He paraded about her, not knowing much what those words meant—he'd overheard them from his father, probably talking to Sarabi.

"_Simba!_" she couldn't help but blush, bashfully pawing him away even though he was practically right in her face. "Stop it!"

"Very well, then. If you don't want a flower, I'll have to catch you a butterfly." He walked away, determined, and approached another victim—this one was mostly black, with accented streaks of a crimson hue. Nala trailed behind, mostly out of concern for the poor creature.

"Simba… Simba, gentle… no, don't _swipe _at it." She watched him, amused, as he batted at it, stretching himself higher and higher as the creature fluttered and spiraled upwards towards the sun. "Here, let me try."

She pushed him aside, the lion already frustrated and not offering up any sort of resistance as she took his place. For a moment she looked up, and then he followed. Both their eyes lay fixated on it, her blue eyes side by side with his amber ones. Both mouths hung slightly agape, small, curious black holes to complement their shining, orb-like eyeballs as she gently extended her arm. It quivered a bit momentarily, the bug flapping downwards in a mercurial and precipitous way as it unpredictably charted its course across the sky… before it was, like a magnet, seemingly attracted to the inviting perch her paw offered. For a moment its six legs alighted and softly tickled the pale fur on her paw, its wings standing stock-straight on end before slowly, lazily flapping once…

"Man, I tried _all _day to do that. How come you can?"

"Well," she tapped her chin softly with a claw from her other paw, still studying the black form and not quite wanting to deflate his confidence. "It's harder than it looks," she finally mumbled humbly. For a moment the three of them stood there—the boy, the girl, and the butterfly—before a sudden shock scared the latter away and disrupted their quiescent moment.

"_Well, what do you want me to do?_ You're going to get us all in trouble!"

"Hamu, still your tongue!"

There was a taut pause as Scar appeared, walking doggedly in pursuit of Hamu, whose gait was surprisingly calm. Nala and Simba withdrew, the scraggly limbs of a dry coil of brambles serving to hide them from view, even if the interlocked mesh of thorns allowed some light through and hence offered them a vision of what was going on.

"_Wow, looks like my uncle's tail is in a twist over _something…"

Nala grimly nodded at him in response, before turning back and looking at her own uncle. Hamu turned around to face the smaller, wiry lion, expression irritated. Something was off.

"And my uncle, too…" she whispered, before remembering something. "… Say, weren't you supposed to be with him this afternoon?"

"Who, Uncle Hamu?" She nodded in the affirmative. "Well, yeah, but then he told me I was going with your mom"—Nala's nose scrunched in confusion—"and then your mom left, remember? _She_ told me I was with my Uncle Scar before she left, but he wasn't back yet and I knew Dad was busy so I set off to find you… or _something_ like that." He added as an afterthought, not really sure about what had happened or what, really, was going on.

"Well, go out there, then! They're probably worried sick about you!" Nala nudged him, though Simba stiffly resisted and held up a paw in protest, his suddenly serious countenance sending her the message that she should stop and listen. And alas, she obeyed—she didn't want another inadvertent accident to happen. Their voices came back into focus.

"You think your actions have no consequences on us, but they _do! _Everything _you _do is a reflection on me—you can't just show up from Mwumbaji-knows-where and expect me to do you every favor!"

"_Fool_…" Scar muttered under his breath, before turning back on Hamu, "I ask of you little. What else would you have had me do? Turn to Mufasa? Mufasa, who nearly killed me and is following me this second?"

"Well, I know that my _obedience_ to him bothers you, but it's for your own good. Otherwise you're going to lose that temper of yours and then _I _won't be able to protect you!"

Scar stood there for a moment, eyebrows raised as though he were slightly confused, perhaps amused—not angry, not shocked, only quizzical. There was a terse moment of silence, neither party saying anything as Hamu dipped his head slightly.

"Protecting me? … Where in hell did _that _come from, brother?"

"L-look, Scar," Hamu suddenly recoiled and shuffled his paws, ashamed, "I know I didn't really do anything to help you when they—"

"_No_, you didn't," Scar interrupted brusquely, perhaps with a note of hurt and spite. "Last I checked, you were out hunting and playing and having the time of your life. Out of sight, out of your _damn _mind, is that right?"

"You know it isn't like that…" he squirmed in an unusual show of discomfort, sighing, "but I couldn't, I just…" he trailed off and stared into the horizon, before facing the dark lion again, "I'll make it up to you. I promise. You're like a brother to me."

"I know. Now prove it. If you're truly sorry, you'll do what I ask of you and tell Mufasa that there are hyenas in the gorge, for he surely won't hear it from me now. I can't explain to you any more… all I can say is that… my life depends on this. Don't be rash."

Hamu looked at him, horribly confused, but gave an acquiescent sigh… a sigh which, luckily, covered up the gasp of shock from Nala.

"Hyenas in the gorge?! Oh no, what're we gonna—"

"Hush!" Simba clasped a paw around her mouth, before beckoning for her to follow him silently out of the bush. They walked some ways down a small trail, until they were far away from the two embracing 'siblings' to their rear. The prince looked at her intensely.

"Listen, we don't know what's going on—"

"—Nope."

"But I think Uncle Scar is up to something. And Dad said I should always intrepidly alert him to the presence of such plots let's… I mean lest… they harm the kingdom's well-being." Simba stood up proudly, attempting to mimic his father's teachings exactly. Nala winced diffidently, hesitant.

"Simba, but don't we—"

"Hush," he interrupted rudely, "I know we know Uncle Scar. But if we don't do something, my father or someone else could get hurt."

"No." She sent him an indignant glare. "He could hurt my uncles. I don't want that… I trust Uncle Scar."

"Nala, you're going to go…" he approached aggressively, the other side of him being bared and leaving no room for argument. She tripped and fell on her back, feeling somewhat frightened as Simba stood over her. "… and tell my dad what's happened. Unless you want to go with me to the gorge and _investigate_."

"But we were told never to go there. And it's… dangerous…" she pressed her paws against her chest protectively, remembering the stories he himself told her about the spirits which supposedly inhabited the place… as well as the more logical remembrance that a herd of wild herbivores was about to go crashing through there at any moment. "Simba, don't go."

"I'm going," he stated defiantly, being his brash self. Nala felt a twinge of anger, at frustration at his ignorance. She looked a little guilty when he suddenly retreated, feeling that a bit of this was her fault, for she was close to him and yet was unable to convince him to stay. But in the end, he was the only one to blame… for it was he, inevitably, that teetered between being her closest friend and being so distant and faraway.

And thus they parted, going separate ways. She to Pride Rock—for she did not want to be caught up in whatever danger and mayhem she could feel impending upon them—and he went towards the gorge. The land declined steeper and steeper until he reached the edge of the ravine, looking down inside it. Yet he was undaunted.

Unfortunately, however, the ears which had proved so sharp in listening to his uncle were blissfully unaware of the slight rumble in the earth, at least until he leapt off a ledge down the wall and landed on the ground with a soft thump… which was amplified. It grew, it roared, it raced… until he was aware of the hundreds and hundreds of pounding hooves which were already coming his way.

It was too late.

* * *

_The question you should be wondering (hopefully, if I did this right) is what Mufasa is so upset about. Or maybe what role Hamu plays in this story. Or how Simba lives._

_You weren't just dying to know? You just sat there and read it? Well, come on, that's no fun! x.x_

_Speaking of chapters, this chapter was a sample of increased chapter length. Go on my profile and look at the poll for more details. Were the change to be done, all chapters except for Trampled's would be about this length. So vote, people! Vote because it could make a difference! Your country needs you! GeminiGemelo for 2016! _

_Oh wait, that type of poll won't show up again for another three-and-a-half years. Never mind. XD_

_Twin :)_


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